


History Teaches Us

by Drenagon



Series: Lessons Well Learnt [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Complete, Fix-It, Gen, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-08 02:59:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 35
Words: 200,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drenagon/pseuds/Drenagon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To reclaim their kingdom, the Company of Thorin Oakenshield will need all the help they can get.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue and Letting Go

**Author's Note:**

> ETA: I am putting this note on both of my big completed stories, because it's something that's cropped up a few times... I have occasionally heard this strange rumour that authors don't like comments on completed stories. I have no idea where it came from, but I promise this particular author loves all feedback. If you are reading and enjoying this story, please let me know. The series took me two years to write, eating up a huge chunk of my free time in the process, and feedback is what makes all that time worthwhile.

Prologue

‘Do you know what you have done, Thorin Oakenshield?’

‘I have failed. I have lost that which was most precious and doomed my line. I have harmed those who ought to have been my allies and sown discord where there ought to have been cooperation. I have failed.’

‘So you do begin to see then. Yet, do you truly understand? Is it the Arkenstone that you mourn so strongly?’

‘A rock. A beautiful rock, truly, but only a rock and for this I have led my nephews to death. They were little more than children and the greed of the line of Durin doomed them. No, I do not mourn for the Arkenstone. I mourn for children. For mine and for those of the Men who burned when we drove the dragon from Erebor. They ought never to have been in harm’s way.’

‘And the elves? Do you mourn for their losses?’

‘Did they mourn for ours when we were driven from our mountain?’

‘Oh, I believe they did, but it is sometimes the failing of a king, is it not, to place pride above the welfare of those outside their kingdom? Would your Grandfather have bent his neck to Thranduil as he demanded Thranduil bend his before Erebor’s throne? Would he have accepted that insult and then aided the one responsible?’

‘The children who died for his lack of aid were not responsible!’

‘No, but nor were the elves Thranduil lost to the darkness that encroached on his forest responsible for their fates. Your Grandfather did not move to save them, not even when Thranduil swallowed his pride and appeared before him to request the aid which an _ally_ ought to have been accorded.’

‘You would blame the enmity on the Dwarves then? We are the only ones at fault?’

‘No, I blame no one, for that is not my role in this. My role is only to make you think of the cost that has been paid for pride and greed and to ask if you would do things differently a second time.’

‘A pointless exercise, surely. There can be no second time.’

‘Can there not? Are you so sure of that, Son of Durin? To whom do you think you speak?’

‘I would not know, would I? I have not had the pleasure of an introduction.’

‘You cannot guess?’

‘I am dead and my nephews with me. I have little patience for guessing games.’

‘Very well, then. Let us return to the pertinent question. Would you change it? All of it? The course of the quest, your dealings with the Men and the Elves, your actions at Erebor?’

‘I would. If it would save them, I would.’

‘Then listen well, Thorin Oakenshield, and perhaps you will have the chance…’

Chapter One: Letting Go

It was a strange thing, to be so certain that death was the end all of your life and then to have your death revoked as if it had never happened. Thorin could remember, in full detail, the feeling of his life leaving him. He remembered making his apologies to Bilbo, remembered Balin telling him that the lads had already perished and remembered being entirely ready to die from guilt. Then, suddenly, he had been having a conversation with a most annoying being (and wasn’t that a peculiar idea, that the creator of their race could be annoying) and realising that he might not end up dead after all.

Thorin had no concept of how long he had lingered in the place between death and life. It had not seemed long to him and yet it had been long enough for Mahal to chip away at some of his longest-held beliefs. Only the little self-preservation Thorin had retained prevented him from calling the god a series of unpleasant names during that time. Apparently, the Dwarves’ creator was far more enamoured of Elves than any of them had realised. He had been determined that Thorin was not allowed to leave until he had adjusted his way of thinking… and Mahal had been right, curse him, even if Thorin hadn’t wanted him to be.

‘So we have finally reached an accord, have we, Master Oakenshield?’ Mahal’s voice rang in his head with a certain amount of amusement.

‘You are the Valar here, you tell me,’ Thorin responded irritably and heard full laughter this time.

‘Oh, perhaps Eru was right when he scolded me for creating my own people. _His_ first-born never give him such trouble I’m sure!’ Mahal’s only response was a slight grumbling noise from Thorin, and he seemed happy enough to ignore it. Instead, he became serious once more. ‘Thorin, it is time now. You know what I would have you do and you have some idea of how you may do it. If we cannot assure the future of your race this time, we will not get a third chance.’

‘I know it,’ Thorin replied gravely, ‘I will do all that I can. If the Line of Durin fails again it will not be through lack of trying.’

‘Very well, then,’ his creator responded. ‘Let it be done.’

Thorin felt his mind go blank and then suddenly he was in his body once more, awakening in the house he had shared with Dís and his nephews before the quest began.

«««

It was a good thing, Thorin decided, that he had arrived during the night and so in his own room. Suddenly being plunged back into a physical body when you had been basically formless for a stretch of time was a very strange feeling. Lying in bed, Thorin found himself stretching his limbs and twisting at his joints, trying to get used to the sensation of being solid once again. It was a pleasant feeling, he decided. Dwarves were not meant for the light, airy feeling of being weightless. They were meant to be on solid ground, connected to the stone from which they had been carved.

Unfortunately being solid once more did have its drawbacks. For one, Thorin was starving. He was going to have to try and sneak into the kitchen to eat without awakening any of his family. He was also aching abominably, which he suspected meant he had arrived after a day when he had been trying to work himself into unconsciousness in his forge. He remembered doing so many times in the months before the quest. Reports had begun to trickle in that his father had been spotted in Dunland. Thorin had been both hopeful and hopeless, wondering if this time, at last, Thrain might truly have been found and wondering what state he would be in if he was. The whole thing had worn on him and his sleep had been troubled unless he was utterly exhausted before he retired for the night.

Hauling himself out of bed, Thorin made for the kitchen. There would have to be food there somewhere. He and Dís were not wealthy in Ered Luin, but nor were they as destitute as they had been in the first months after the fall of Erebor.

Having successfully managed to eat without waking anyone, Thorin pondered what to do next. There was much that he would need to do, and much he needed to change, in the next few months. However, with the rest of the household asleep and Thorin himself beginning to feel sleepy, there was no particular reason it needed to be done now. Decision made, Thorin returned to bed.

«««

He was woken the next morning by the familiar sounds of his nephews squabbling over something or other. It was not a serious argument, or else Dís would be banging their heads together by now, but it was comforting to hear. Pulling himself out of bed and quickly washing and dressing Thorin prepared to encounter the lads again. It had not been so long since he had seen them really, but he had not been in his right mind for any of their last encounters. He had missed them while he had been waiting to return and it would be good see them whole and healthy. He had not been the only one taken by gold sickness in the end, though he had been the worst and his sickness had been the longest lasting.

Entering the main room of their house, he found the scene much as he expected. Dís stood at the fireplace, occasionally poking at the porridge which would make up their breakfast. Fíli had some item of his brother’s in hand, and was waving it in the air above Kíli’s head. Thorin snorted in amusement. Fíli hadn’t yet grasped that Kíli was barely an inch shorter than him these days. He was not likely to hold onto his prize for long if they continued. As it was, his snort drew their attention and they turned to him and straightened, Fíli quickly shoving the whatever-it-was behind his back.

‘Uncle!’ two voices rang out together.

‘You’re up earlier than we were expecting. You had not yet returned when we went to bed last night,’ Kíli finished in a surprised tone.

Thorin obviously had no idea when he had come home the night before, but that it had been late in the night did not surprise him.

‘There is work to be done today,’ he commented pointedly, raising an eyebrow at their appearance. Neither of the boys was dressed and Fíli’s braids were half done. Kíli, of course, had clearly not bothered with any the day before. His hair resembled a rat’s nest more than any dwarven style.

‘Ah yes, work. We should go and… prepare to do that. Now.’ The boys both started backing away, then spun around and disappeared into the room they shared. This time Thorin’s snort was joined by another, similar sound and he turned to the fireplace to see Dís shaking her head.

‘They are still children at heart,’ she muttered. ‘I begin to wonder if they will ever grow up.’

‘They will,’ Thorin informed her. ‘They will not have a choice. Balin has forced worse than the pair of them to maturity.’

‘So he has,’ Dís said wryly. ‘I thought you and Frerin would be the death of him at one point.’

‘You, of course, were a model of good behaviour,’ came the rejoinder.

‘Of course!’ Dís smiled innocently, not her most natural expression, and then the two of them began to chuckle.

‘You are in a better mood today, Brother,’ she said when their laughter faded, turning to stir their breakfast. ‘You have been… distracted these last few days.’

‘By which you mean I have been bad-tempered and irritable,’ Thorin filled in, causing Dís to turn back towards him sharply. ‘I am not unaware of it, Sister,’ he said calmly, feeling guilty for the worry his former self had clearly been causing her. ‘I have been troubled and I have taken it out on the rest of you. I am sorry for it.’

‘You have not seemed willing to speak of it,’ Dís told him. ‘I had expected we would have to drag it out of you eventually.’

‘Hmm,’ Thorin agreed, ‘You might well have done, but I thought long and hard last night and I believe it is time decisions were made. I would have your council, and Balin and Dwalin’s, before I decide for certain.’

‘We will be glad to give it. Truly, Thorin, I would like to see you at peace again.’ It was not often that his sister was earnest, Thorin thought. In general she preferred to bully them into health and happiness with sarcastic comments and threats. That she was earnest now meant he really had been worrying her. He would have to change that as soon as possible, he decided. It would not do to leave on the quest with Dís shouldering the burden of leadership, concerned for her sons and worried about Thorin’s soundness of mind.

‘Then we will speak of it tonight. I will invite Balin and Dwalin for dinner, and we can send the lads elsewhere afterward.’

‘They will not like that, Thorin,’ Dís warned him.

‘They may not, but I will do it nonetheless,’ Thorin told her. ‘Some of what I would discuss with you concerns the two of them. Once the decisions have been made by those of us willing to acts as adults I will speak to Fíli and Kíli.’

‘Very well then, brother,’ Dís agreed. ‘I will follow your advice, for now.’

Thorin smiled suddenly, amused at her wording. Dís only ever followed anyone’s advice ‘for now’. She was almost as stubborn and pig-headed as he was. He nodded in response, still smiling, and was rewarded with a smile from Dís as well.

‘You are at the forge today?’ Dís asked him suddenly.

‘I am,’ Thorin responded, struggling to remember what work he had to complete. ‘I believe we owe the Men the swords they ordered when last they were here.’

Several of the local villages traded with the dwarves for the metals they worked and other goods which the dwarves of Ered Luin produced at a higher quality than anyone else nearby. However, the rare orders for arms from the militia of the nearest town always came to Thorin. His Grandfather had been determined, even after the fall of their kingdom, that his heir would be able to smith the highest quality weapons as well as wield them and Thorin had the most experience of any smith still living in Ered Luin. Only because, he reflected ruefully, most of their best smiths had found homes in other dwarven settlements in the years since Erebor was destroyed.

Thankfully, Dís seemed to be in agreement that they had an order due, so Thorin’s memory was not too faulty. She also reminded him that he was expected to hold court in the next few days, to settle the few disputes that had arisen. In this, too, his people still deferred to him and he reminded himself to ask Balin about the cases tonight.

At that point the boys re-entered the room, doing their best to look dignified after their earlier display. Kíli still had no braids in his hair, Thorin noted, he never did. He had, however, at least made an effort to brush it this time.

‘Eat quickly,’ Thorin ordered, ‘we have much to do today.’

‘Yes, Uncle,’ they chorused. Soon afterwards all three headed to the forge to begin the day’s work.

«««

Thorin was surprised to realise how much he had missed his work during the Company’s travels. Since Smaug had taken Erebor being a blacksmith had been a duty for him. His grandfather had required it and the money had been desperately needed to support his family and those who looked to them for protection. He had never thought to find it a comfort to go through the familiar motions he had performed hundreds of times before. Now, however, he found it to be quite soothing, especially with his nephews nearby performing the same tasks as he had taught them. They were relatively new to smithing, but Kíli in particular had the knack for it and would be a master in time. Fíli did not have the same joy in it but his work was still good.

They worked quickly together and by early afternoon they had managed a reasonable amount of work on their main order. Thorin sent Fíli over to Balin’s home to invite the brothers for dinner and when he returned they packed up for the day and returned home.

Dís had clearly come back from her own shop early, as something was cooking over the fire. She emerged soon after they arrived, one of the instruments she was currently crafting in hand.

‘We’ll be having stew,’ she informed Thorin sternly. ‘I made sure there’d be enough for that empty pit you call a guardsman as well as our own gannets.’

‘Thank you, Dís,’ he responded, knowing his cue when he heard it. ‘We will make sure the table is laid and all else ready.’

‘Hmph,’ she replied, her earlier humour hidden once again, ‘I have work to be getting on with. We do not all have two apprentices to share the load.’

This said, she retreated back into her room, ignoring the indignant cries of her sons as they protested that they had not been apprentices for at least a year. Thorin, too, ignored them.

It was not long before Balin arrived, with Dwalin joining them shortly afterward muttering about ‘the damned thief’. Thorin took this to mean that Dwalin had had another of his many encounters with Nori and that it had not ended satisfactorily. Dwalin took great exception to Nori’s ability to escape justice on a regular basis despite the efforts of the guardsmen to find definitive proof that he had committed his latest crime.

Dís reappeared once again and pronounced that dinner was ready after a few moments. Then chaos reigned for some time as everyone tried to get their share before it was stolen by another. Dwalin was, as Dís had pointed out earlier, endlessly hungry, but Balin made sure to thump him when he tried to steal the last of the stew out from under Kíli’s nose.

‘The lad’s only had one bowl and that would be your fourth. Behave yourself, you’re a guest!’ Balin’s voice held more weariness than scolding, after years of speaking similar phrases at regular intervals.

Dwalin gave in begrudgingly and then it was Thorin’s turn to thump Kíli when he seemed inclined to gloat. Dís treated the entire table to a stern glare and all of them subsided quickly.

‘Boys, you may clear the table and then find something to do elsewhere.’

Both lads seemed unhappy at the order and Thorin could see them preparing to argue. However, they were treated to another of their mother’s array of glares and clearly decided that discretion was the better part of valour. The table was swiftly cleared, cloaks and pipes collected, and then Fíli and Kíli were gone.

Finding himself faced with three expectant stares, Thorin attempted to get his thoughts in order and then began.

«««

‘You have all noticed that I have been distracted and angry of late,’ he started, only to be interrupted by Dwalin’s rumble of agreement.

‘You’ve been as twitchy as a squirrel with only one nut to seem him through winter,’ Thorin’s friend added, causing both Dís and Balin to try and turn laughter into coughs.

‘Where do you even come up with these phrases?’ Thorin asked incredulously, before deciding he probably didn’t want to know. Squaring his shoulders, he began again.

‘As I was saying, I have been distracted. Word has been coming to Ered Luin that Thrain has been sighted in Dunland. There have been several reports and I have been waiting for further confirmation.’

Thorin paused at this point and looked to Dís for her reaction. In the previous time he had not told her this; his trip to Bree had been disguised as one of the jobs protecting caravans that he and the lads still took sometimes when money was tight.

Dís looked surprised, which meant she was closer to stunned on the inside. Then a look of great sadness darkened her face. Drawing a slow breath, she closed her eyes briefly before looking at her brother.

‘Thorin, Father has been missing for years upon years. Perhaps once there was hope of his return but now… even if he were to be found, he would not be our father. In his right mind Thrain would have returned of his own volition.’ Dís’ voice quavered slightly in the middle of her speech, but for the rest she was as resolute as ever. Balin and Dwalin sat silently, both watching carefully.

‘I know,’ Thorin admitted after a short pause. ‘I have known it for years though I did not wish to. That is one of the things I have had to come to grips with in the last few weeks. Like it or not, I am all the king that is left to our people now.’

‘That is no bad thing, laddie,’ Balin added quietly. ‘I can think of few other dwarves I would trust with the care of the dwarves of Erebor.’

Thorin laughed softly, and looked fondly at his old friend.

‘You have always had greater faith in me than I had in myself, Balin. There are many who say that it would have been better if I, and not Frerin, had perished at Azanulbizar.’

‘There is no point dwelling on what might have been, Thorin,’ Dwalin said sharply. ‘Frerin died, as did our father, and all that we can do is try to lead lives they would have been proud of. Frerin was even younger than you at Azanulbizar. There is no telling what sort of king he might have made.’

Bolstered by the swift support of his friends, Thorin allowed some of the tension to bleed from his shoulders, though not all.

‘If you can still say the same, both of you, by the end of the night, I will count myself lucky indeed,’ he told them wryly.

‘Father was not the only trouble on your mind, then?’ Dís questioned him.

‘No, he was not,’ and here Thorin sent a fervent prayer to Mahal for luck. ‘The same reports that mentioned sightings of Father also mentioned a darkness spreading across the land. Orcs, goblins, trolls and wargs have been spotted where they have not been seen for many years. Something stirs and brings evil with it.’

‘I have not heard such reports, Thorin,’ Balin commented in surprise. ‘None of those who have travelled to Ered Luin have mentioned such a thing.’

‘No,’ Thorin said, praying harder than ever, ‘they may well not have. The problems are not widespread yet. My contacts make their business by gathering information, however. From one or even two I might assume coincidence, but I have five reports all telling a similar tale. Whether it is a signal of a greater problem or not may be in question but there is no question in my mind that the world outside is more dangerous than ever.’

None of his companions looked particularly convinced and Thorin could not blame them. It was a flimsy excuse for concern, reports from five men who had also reported sightings of a dwarf even Thorin knew was dead by now. He could only hope it was enough. That the three of them believe him in this was essential to several more steps of his plan. Thorin waited with bated breath for their comments.

‘You believe this?’ Balin asked at last. ‘You truly believe that there is trouble coming?’

‘I do,’ Thorin stated with all the conviction he could muster.

‘Then I can do no less than believe you.’ At Dwalin’s noise of disbelief, Balin turned to his brother and treated him to a look that always left him abashed. ‘We have trusted Thorin through exile and war and the building of this settlement. Are we to turn away now?’

‘I am not speaking of turning away, Brother. You know me better than that. But what is the point of friends and advisors if they can’t tell you when they think you’re out of your mind?’

‘Peace, both of you,’ Thorin sighed. ‘I do not expect blind devotion, you know that. Nor do I think that Balin gives anything blindly,’ he added to appease Balin’s look of insult. ‘I simply state the facts as I see them. For they will be important for the rest of what I have to say.’

‘Then perhaps you had best say it all at once and we may debate it afterwards,’ Dís suggested in a tone which made it clear that her words were nothing so polite as a suggestion.

‘Very well,’ Thorin said gravely. ‘All at once it shall be. I would have you all remember that you have agreed not to speak until I am done.’

‘We’ll behave, laddie,’ Balin promised. The other two followed him swiftly. Thorin simply sighed once more and then started to talk.

‘I have thought of our home almost constantly since it was taken. This much will not surprise any of you. We all contemplate what we might have had, I think. These last few months and weeks, however, I have been thinking more and more of trying to reclaim Erebor.’

The three all made efforts to contain their surprise at this point and Thorin gave them a moment before continuing.

‘I worry, as I look at the reports that come through, and think of what has happened since Smaug came. I worry about the evil that I believe must be calling the foul things of the world forth. Even more, I worry about the harm that such evil could do with a dragon at its bidding.

‘I am aware that the dragon has not been seen for 60 years. That itself would worry me, for I suspect other eyes turn towards our home. There will be those who believe Smaug dead and wish for a share of his hoard for their own. They are wrong, I am almost certain of it, but that is the lesser problem. The greater is still the damage Smaug might do if he is roused from slumber. In a few hours he reduced two of the greatest cities in the world to little more than ash. ‘Twas my family that brought Smaug upon Erebor and upon Dale. If there is a way to kill him we owe it to our people and to the people of Dale to find it. It is my intention to travel to Erebor and try to find a way to kill Smaug once and for all.’

Now, Thorin nodded his head to indicate that he had finished for the time being. Immediately, a cacophony of sound assaulted him.

‘Thorin, this is madness…’

‘Brother, for Mahal’s sake, you cannot…’

‘If you think I’m letting you just march off to your death…’

This, at least, was familiar, Thorin thought. Such had been their reactions when he had first proposed the quest before. Then he had turned them to his way of thinking by speaking of the wealth of Erebor and the prospect that it might be stolen by scavengers if Smaug were dead. This time would need a very different tactic, he decided.

‘I am not going mad,’ Thorin uttered, looking sincerely at each of them in turn. ‘I am aware of the risks, I assure you. The greatest army Erebor could raise did not defend us against that dragon, nor do I believe an army will do so now. It will take cunning – and that is _not_ something the men of the line of Durin are known for.’

‘And its women are?’ Dís questioned in a dangerous tone of voice. Thorin was about to give the sensible, negative answer to this question when Dwalin decided to risk his life.

‘Give over, lass. I’ve seen battle plans less well-prepared than the plot you concocted to win Vili over. If that was not cunning, I’m an elf,’ Dwalin stated.

Thorin looked at Balin incredulously. ‘He thinks _I_ am mad – at least I am only planning to fight a dragon!’

‘He was dropped on his head as a child,’ Balin informed him seriously. ‘It’s the only explanation.’

In the time it took for this exchange, Dwalin had suffered a minor head injury courtesy of one of Dís’ cooking spoons. Despite his plea for support, Thorin continued the earlier conversation as if nothing had happened.

‘In truth, I do not know if it can be done or, if it can, how. But I do firmly believe that the dragon must be killed. If nothing else, only his death will assure the safety of those who live around Erebor. No dragon can sleep forever. Eventually he will be driven out of the mountain, either in search of food or more gold to add to his hoard.’

‘Thorin, he sits upon the greatest collection of wealth this world has ever known!’ Balin reminded his King.

‘Yes, and once he must have had another hoard somewhere. He abandoned it to search for a better. Perhaps there is none better to be found, but I do not believe greed is a disease that is easily satisfied. Eventually, I think Smaug will decide that his pile of treasure would be more impressive with more treasure upon it and he will go searching.’ All of this Thorin said sombrely, thinking of his grandfather and what his greed had brought upon them. It had never sat well, this link between the dragon who had destroyed their home and the grandfather Thorin had once loved. It was part of the reason he had been angry with Thranduil for daring to suggest it.

‘Nevertheless, Thorin, you are suggesting you risk your life for a problem that is far away now,’ was Dís’ contribution. ‘Perhaps we cannot have our home back, but we do well here. The others who now live near Erebor are not our concern.’

‘Aren’t they? Would they live in fear of Smaug’s return if he had never come?’ Thorin asked her. ‘He came for _our_ gold, Dís. He had no interest in Dale, or Mirkwood, only Erebor.’

‘So why take on the guilt of their fate?’ Dís replied. ‘They enjoyed our wealth when it helped their city flourish, if they paid for it what fault is it of ours?’

A silence fell after she said this and Dís faltered slightly as it stretched onward.

‘We have all heard that argument,’ Thorin said calmly. ‘Heard it more than once. It was Thror’s argument and Thrain’s after him. I do not wish to end my life viewing the world as they did.’

‘I did not mean it like that,’ Dís told him softly. ‘You know I did not.’

‘I know,’ he assured her. ‘I know you better than that. Dís, I think the time has come to look beyond the suffering of our people. I do not suggest that we ignore it,’ he hastened to add. ‘We are responsible to our own first, as always; but I fear being so insular has hurt us. When Erebor fell, we looked to others for aid and were stunned when none could be found. Yet, what aid had we given when Dale suffered a poor harvest? Or when the Greenwood became infected with whatever disease ails it?’

‘Thorin, those decisions were not of your making. It was Thror who chose to demand the same tithe from Dale despite their losses. It was Thror who rejected Thranduil’s request for aid,’ Balin reminded him. ‘You weren’t even past your majority when these things happened.’

The atmosphere in the kitchen was heavy and Thorin wished it did not have to be so. He hated having to blame his family for the problems that had afflicted their people. Unfortunately, Mahal had been most insistent in pointing out where Thorin’s line had gone wrong and upon reflection Thorin had had to agree. With this in mind he added,

‘I was not responsible, but I ought to have objected. Even if it had brought their wrath upon me, I ought to have reminded them that alliances go both ways. Thror was gold-mad and power hungry and I knew it and yet said nothing. The boys are not much older now than I was then, but they know what is right. Dís has made sure of it. I would want them to object if I tried to treat allies as they were once treated in Erebor.’

‘He is right,’ Dwalin surprised them all by saying. ‘Not about the elves, in my opinion, but the men of Dale were good friends to us. You have said that Girion expressed concerns about Thror’s decision to store so much wealth in Erebor and that he objected when Dale’s tithe was raised again and again. He deserved the courtesy of being listened to, but we all know that he was not.’

Against that neither Balin nor Dís could argue. Thorin was relieved that that part of the battle might soon be won. Whether that would lead to his success in the war to get their support for his plans he did not know.

‘I believe Thranduil, too, deserved a fair hearing, though he did not receive one. I also know that if any king of Men or Elves demanded that I pay homage before them for the privilege of maintaining an alliance I would sooner break it than agree. I have to respect the way Girion and Thranduil set their pride aside to help their people, though I may not have to like them,’ Thorin began again.

At this, Balin nodded his agreement. He had had great respect for Girion, though he had been too young to have dealt with the Lord of Dale overmuch. Then, he decided that the conversation had wandered long enough.

‘Thorin, we have come far from our original point. You wish for our support for a plan to reclaim Erebor. I would know exactly why you plan this before I agree.’

‘Very well,’ Thorin allowed, ‘we have gone the roundabout route I will admit. No, Dwalin,’ he said as Dwalin looked ready to speak, ‘there is absolutely no need to comment on my sense of direction.’

Dwalin muttered something impolite under his breath but restrained himself to that alone. Thankful for small mercies, Thorin continued.

‘In short, I would reclaim Erebor to see the dragon dead. He has caused much suffering and that will only be ended by his death. I believe it is the duty of our line to see this done, for it was Thror’s sickness, and Father’s and my reluctance to act, which brought him to Erebor in the first place. I also feel that it is important that our people have a safe place to live, and to prosper, and that we work towards this by renewing old alliances which should not have been allowed to fade as they did.’

‘I can agree with much of that,’ Dís told him. ‘You are right, if it was our line who brought doom upon the East, then it is only right that we should seek to undo what has been done. I do not have your attachment to Erebor, however. We have a good life in Ered Luin, yet you say we cannot prosper here.’

Here, Thorin looked to Balin for his answer. The other dwarf had a better memory for numbers than any he had ever met, though he suspected Ori and Glóin came close.

‘Balin, how many children were born in Erebor in the year before it fell?’

At this question, Balin understood Thorin’s point only too well. He sagged slightly, sadness overcoming him.

‘Nearly 250,’ Balin said slowly, unsurprised to hear Dís gasp. Such a figure was astonishingly high for those who lived in Ered Luin.

‘And last year? In Ered Luin?’ Thorin persisted, wanting to ensure his point was fully understood.

'10,’ Balin replied. ‘It ought to have been 12, but Girti’s babe was stillborn and Hruth lost both his wife and the babe she bore.’

‘We are a dying race, Dís,’ her brother informed her. ‘We live here and we get by, but we do not prosper.’

‘You think we will do better in Erebor?’ Dís asked fiercely, heartbroken from hearing the facts laid out so baldly.

‘I do,’ Thorin responded.

‘Then you have my support. If you go to Erebor I will go with you or remain behind to rule, as you choose.’

Welcome as Dís’ support was, Thorin was surprised that she had even offered to stay behind. Last time they had worried that only tying her to a tree would convince her to accept Thorin’s insistence that she could not come with him.

‘I would feel a great deal more comfortable,’ Thorin answered her, ‘if I left knowing that you guarded Ered Luin and its people.’

‘Then I will remain,’ his sister swore solemnly, ‘and I will ensure that the people you call home to Erebor are healthy and whole and ready for the task of rebuilding what was lost. So I, Dís, daughter of Thrain, son of Thror, promise to you my King.’

Rising from the table and crossing to his sister, Thorin allowed himself a moment of sentimentality and kissed her forehead as he had often done when they were younger.

‘Your King is glad to hear it,’ he told her gently, ‘and your brother is as proud as any upon this earth at this moment.’

They stood there for a moment, foreheads resting together, then parted and returned to the table. Looking at Balin and Dwalin, Thorin hoped that their answers would be so favourable.

‘I am with you, laddie,’ Balin said at length. ‘I placed my faith in you many years ago and you have it still.’

Dwalin’s answer, as Thorin had expected, was rather more prosaic.

‘Well, I’m not letting you go with only Balin to guard you,’ the guardsman growled. ‘Between the two of you, you’d lose your way half a dozen times and be found ten years hence in some poor merchant’s library, reading a manuscript no one else gives a damn about.’

‘A heart-warming sentiment, Brother, as always!’ Balin exclaimed, rolling his eyes. The punch he gave his brother was affectionate nevertheless, and Thorin was glad to see it. He might have a task worthy of song ahead of him, but these two would not let him get his head too far into the clouds. Not if he actually listened to them this time.

««««««


	2. Decisions, Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is much to be done before the Company can be on their way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably warn here that I will not always update so quickly. I have been writing this for the best part of a week straight, but I'm sure real life will intrude eventually. I'll do my best to keep to once a week updates. Thank you for all your comments, kudos, bookmarks etc. I wasn't expecting such a positive reaction but it has definitely sped my writing up :)
> 
> Finally, thank you to Rach. She isn't even in fandom but she has patiently read each chapter in between revising for exams and came to find AO3 just to see this story up online because she is amazing!

Chapter Two: Decisions, Decisions

The atmosphere in Dís and Thorin’s kitchen was a great deal better by the time they returned to serious discussion again. Being dwarves they had, of course, had to toast the new-born quest with a flagon of ale. Then Dwalin had toasted Thorin’s continuing health and sanity – and been hit yet again. The conversation had sunk downward from there. It had only been rescued by Dís’ realisation that she had sent her sons out two hours ago and that they would doubtless need to return home at some point.

‘Thorin, you said that you wished to talk to us about the boys while they were out,’ she reminded him suddenly.

At the reminder the other three sobered and returned to their seats (for Dwalin this required getting off the table first).

‘I did,’ Thorin acknowledged. ‘Hopefully it will be a shorter conversation than the last,’ he commented as he eyed the fading daylight outside.

‘I believe that the boys should come with myself and whatever party I can raise to journey to Erebor. That I wished to discuss with you this morning. However, during the day I have come to question my own wisdom. I do not believe that they are at all ready for some of what they will face on that journey.’

Dís and Dwalin both bridled at the comment and objected nearly in unison.

‘The boys are as skilled as any dwarves their age, Brother.’

‘Thorin, I trained the lads myself, they are well able to fight any normal orc or goblin!’

‘I am not saying that they are lacking skill in battle,’ Thorin raised his voice to be heard above their objections. This quietened them enough that he could lower his voice to continue. ‘It is not their martial training that concerns me. Balin, how many times have they attended their lessons in diplomacy and kingship in the last month?’

‘Twice,’ Balin replied ruefully. ‘Both times when the weather was bad and they had to be indoors anyway.’

‘But they are supposed to go to you twice a week, on their days off!’ Dís exclaimed. ‘What in Mahal’s name have they been doing?’

‘Hunting, when they could. Or extra weapons training. Anything, in short, that would not require sitting with paper and ink, or any sort of book.’

‘Why did you not tell me of this, Thorin?’ Dís demanded. ‘I would have put paid to such foolishness long ago.’

‘I know, Sister, it was ill done of me. In my distraction, I did not think of it after the first time I caught them where they should not be and I assumed that the scolding I gave them would solve the problem. I did not realise I was wrong until I overheard them talking to one another earlier.’

This much, at least, was true. Thorin had been most surprised to hear Kíli tell his brother that he had fletched some new arrows and looked forward to testing them against the local wildlife 'once we have escaped Balin'.

Now, Dís turned on the unfortunate Balin.

‘Well,’ she asked him. ‘What excuse do you have for remaining silent?’

Thorin was also quite interested in this answer and listened attentively.

‘A bad one I am afraid,’ Balin told her. ‘The boys have been poor students at best since they attained their majority. I confess, I grew tired of trying to drill the information into them and with Ori to train I have been using the time elsewhere. I can only apologise.’

Balin looked truly apologetic indeed and certainly Thorin could sympathise. There had been days when he had thrown the two of them out of the forge in exasperation, simply to get a little peace. Not that he would say as much to his sister when she was in this mood.

Luckily, his visions of disaster were not to be. Dís simply uttered the sigh of the put-upon parent and thumped her head against the table twice.

‘What I did to be saddled with such a pair of children I will never know!’ she muttered irritably. ‘Clearly this cannot continue,’ at this she sat up again. ‘Fíli may well be king one day and Kíli will hardly avoid all responsibility. They will have to attend their lessons and for longer than they did before so that they make up for lost time.’

‘I agree,’ Thorin added in, ‘but I had wondered if perhaps a simple case of the carrot and the stick might be used.’

Dís looked at him with interest and inclined her head in an indication for him to continue.

‘With your permission, Dís – if they attend their lessons and make what Balin considers to be _good_ progress, they may accompany those who set out to Erebor. If they do not, they remain here and may join me when you come east with the rest of our people.’

‘Well, that will certainly set their little heads in a spin,’ Dwalin commented. ‘They will expect to come with us as their due, because they are your heirs and old enough to make their own decisions.’

‘They are old enough to make their own decisions, _when it is their right to do so_ ,’ Dís emphasised with a sly smile, ‘but not when it goes against the will of their King. We must all follow the orders we are given.’

Thorin treated her to a look he hoped was extremely sceptical. If Dís had held to that view, his life when they were younger would have been a great deal easier.

‘Except for me, of course,’ she added quickly. ‘It would not do to have him get too used to having his own way.’

‘Not at all,’ Thorin said, tone full of sarcasm. ‘I might have begun to think that I was in charge.’

‘Oh no, Brother,’ the rejoinder came. ‘You are not so foolish as that.’

‘You are all extremely foolish much of the time,’ Balin stated, ‘though I may risk my own life in saying it. Is the plan agreed then? The boys are to learn or they may not go?’

‘Agreed,’ Dís acknowledged.

‘As the lady commands,’ Dwalin added, stepping back out of Dís’ reach as he did so.

‘Yes,’ Thorin said simply. ‘And I will also make it clear to them why I consider these lessons needed. Neither the Men nor the Elves we may encounter en route to Erebor will have much good to say of us, or much cause to view our quest with kindness. If I cannot trust that they will deal sensibly with the situation rather than worsening it then they will not come.’

‘Erebor!’ shouted a new voice from just by the window, followed by a solid thumping sound and a ‘Damnit, Kíli!’

The smile upon Dís’ face was nothing short of beatific as she crossed to the door, opened it, and hauled her two scapegrace sons into the house, prepared to give them a scolding which would follow them to the gates of Erebor itself.

«««

The next morning - once Fíli and Kíli had been thoroughly humiliated and had promised good behaviour until the end of Middle Earth if only it would get them away from their mother - all members of the household returned to their normal business. Dís had given the boys a brief explanation of Thorin’s intentions the night before, but Thorin had no doubt that he would be treated to questions aplenty once his nephews recovered their usual spirits.

He was not wrong. By lunchtime they had clearly decided that their uncle was going to leave their punishment up to their mother and the two felt brave enough to begin interrogating him.

‘Will we truly be going to Erebor, Uncle?’ Kíli asked first, sounding as excited as a young dwarf about to have his first weapons lesson.

‘I will be going to Erebor, certainly,’ Thorin replied, more amused than he let on. ‘Whether the two of you will be going depends entirely on the deal you struck with your mother last night.’

‘You could… work round her though, couldn’t you?’ Fíli queried. ‘If you wanted to.’

‘Perhaps, though I would not guarantee it,’ Thorin told him. ‘As it is, I do not wish to, for it is I who first expressed doubts about the wisdom of taking you at all.’

Now his nephews looked slightly insulted, but also genuinely hurt. Looking at them with a little less amusement, and more aware than ever of his faults in raising his nephews last time, Thorin sighed.

‘Boys, the journey to Erebor is not going to be an easy one. Nor is it about glory and great deeds in battle. Yes, we may well see battle on the way and if we do I would be glad to have the two of you fighting at my side,’ two heads now came up and smiles starting to grow. ‘ _However_ , battle is not our object. We go to kill Smaug and take back Erebor if we can, but just as importantly we go to re-establish our people’s place in Middle Earth. That will not be assured solely by reclaiming Erebor. We must rebuild old alliances with the men of Dale and with the elves of Mirkwood. I know that I can trust Balin in this task, as I can trust Dwalin to hold his tongue even when he does not care for the company he is in. Apparently I cannot even trust the two of you to be where you say you will be – how, then, can I trust you with the fate of my people?’

‘They are our people, too, Uncle!’ Fíli argued mulishly. ‘We know how to behave when it is important.’

‘Do you?’ Thorin found himself snapping, irritated with himself as much as with his nephews. How had he allowed them to reach this age without making this lesson clear? ‘Do you truly, Fíli? You will most likely be king one day, when I am dead – do you know how to treat an ally who comes to your kingdom? Which rooms he is to be given? What gifts are appropriate to offer or to accept? How to act if you are the one visiting instead?’

‘Fíli will have time to learn those things,’ Kíli muttered, head hanging once more. ‘You will be king for years yet.’

‘Oh, Kíli,’ Thorin deliberately placed his anger aside, reminding himself that they were young and that he was hardly a perfect king himself. ‘Kíli, there is no guarantee that I will live so long. I was not so much older than you when my father disappeared. Balin became head of his House at the same time. Evil things happen in this world. You do not know what knowledge you may need tomorrow, until you need it and it is not there.’

‘We should not have missed our lessons,’ Fíli spoke up. Thorin looked him over carefully, checking for signs that he was simply trying to talk his way out of trouble and was relieved to see instead the beginnings of understanding. ‘It was unfair to Balin and beneath us to put our own pleasure above the future needs of our people. I am sorry, Uncle.’

Thorin nodded his acceptance of the apology and looked then to Kíli, whose head still hung low.

‘Fíli is the heir and I am the spare,’ Kíli said at last. ‘Everyone in Ered Luin knows it and calls us so. I just… I did not think it would hurt if I did not know all the things Balin tries to teach us. I should not have encouraged Fíli to come with me.’

‘Kíli,’ Thorin uttered, shocked to hear such words from his ever-cheerful nephew. Was this the reason for the recklessness that so troubled Dís, he wondered. Reaching out, he tapped his fingers underneath his nephew’s chin until Kíli looked him in the eye.

‘Kíli, I care not what the people of Ered Luin know, or think they know,’ Thorin told him firmly. ‘You are my heir, just as your brother is. Which of you will inherit first, or at all, is simply a matter of birth. If we reclaim Erebor it will be both of you I choose to represent me, together or separately. You may, in fact, be of more use with the elves than Fíli – your skill with a bow is more likely to impress them than our dwarven weapons.’

Privately Thorin thought that his skill for charming elven maidens with his cheekiness and less typically dwarven appearance would not hurt, but he kept this to himself.

‘I would have you regret missing the training because you may need it,’ Thorin finished. ‘Not just because Fíli allowed himself to be distracted as well.’

‘You mean it?’ Kíli asked him seriously. ‘You would send both of us?’

‘I would,’ Thorin answered. ‘If I am to send emissaries of my kingdom to the other races, or even among our own, I would have them see the best there is of Erebor. That would include both its Princes, as once Thror would have sent myself and your uncle.’

‘Did he?’ Fíli asked this time.

‘He did not,’ Thorin replied, surprised that the boys would not know. ‘We were too young to be sent anywhere when Erebor fell, though I had recently been given a command in the Royal Guard. Frerin had not yet reached an age for such responsibility.’

‘You do not speak of him,’ Fíli told Thorin. ‘Mum a little perhaps, when she tells me I have the look of him, but nothing more.’

‘Then we have done you a disservice in our grief. He was much like both of you, for he had your temperaments. He loved to be moving and doing, though he had patience in the forge when we were taught. Frerin, more than anyone, could bring Father out of his grief over what had been lost. “Limul”, Father called him and kept him close. Frerin bore it more patiently than I would have done and had more sympathy when it seemed Father’s mind, too, was failing. In the end, I think it was Frerin’s loss that led Father to flee Azanulbizar.’

‘Grandfather loved all of you, didn’t he?’ Kíli queried, sounding shocked.

‘He did, of course, when he was in his right mind,’ Thorin hurried to assure him. ‘I would not even say that he openly favoured Frerin as he started to fail. It was simply that Frerin reminded him of happier times and it was only when Thror and Frerin had fallen that he quit the battlefield. Perhaps it was the loss of his father that drove Thrain to leave – I do not think your mother or I will ever truly understand it.’

‘You lost brother and father and grandfather and then you were the king,’ Fíli said quietly. ‘I knew it, of course, but I never really thought of it like that before. If I lost Kíli and you and Mum…’

‘I hope it never comes to that, Fíli,’ Thorin told him. ‘I will do my best to see that it does not. It is… a terrible grief, but I had your mother, and Dwalin and Balin to stand by me. I was not entirely alone.’

His two nephews, the treasures he had told Mahal were without price, should never suffer that fate, Thorin prayed. They had not, in their other life. They had died within minutes of one another and hopefully never knew of his own fate. This time, though, he was determined that they would live together, not die together.

‘We will be princes Erebor can be proud of,’ Fíli promised him solemnly. ‘We will be worthy to follow you on this quest.’

‘I am sure of it,’ Thorin said to them both, smiling to dispel the gloom that had descended, ‘now that I have your word. I will not expect complete perfection, either – I know you too well for that.’

Thorin laughed then, seeing identical expressions of relief.

‘Dís and Balin, however…’ he added, just to see them groan in horror. He was not disappointed.

«««

The following week or more passed swiftly, their everyday work now followed by long sessions of planning and strategising. It had become clear that there was no plan for getting inside the mountain as yet (Thorin could only hope that Gandalf was firm enough in his convictions to seek Thorin out in Ered Luin, rather than meeting him on the road). Hence the conversations of his small company turned first of all to provisions, finances and other companions. All three topics had led to some interesting discussions.

As before Balin had slowly let a rumour of Thorin’s plan to reclaim Erebor spread through Ered Luin. Most of their people seemed to feel that that would be a wonderful thing indeed and that they would hurry home with joyful hearts – once the dragon had been dealt with by Thorin. Truthfully Thorin could not blame them, though it reminded him once more of how grateful he should be for the brave dwarves who had agreed to accompany him. Not everyone in the household, however, shared his view.

‘Cowardly crows, the lot of them,’ Dis snapped one evening. ‘Very willing to let others risk their lives and do the hard work and then to arrive later to enjoy the spoils.’

‘They lost a great deal when Smaug came and their memories are long, lass,’ Balin explained patiently. ‘Perhaps there would be more eager to join us if they actually knew how we were going to kill the dragon.’

‘Or if _we_ knew how we were going to kill it,’ Fíli muttered under his breath. He flushed when Thorin caught his eye, but relaxed when he realised he was not to be rebuked.

‘Balin is right,’ Thorin said instead. ‘I can hardly blame them for not wanting to face Smaug. A large part of me wishes I could do this myself and leave all of you safely here. Besides, I am not trying to raise an army.’

‘We would have to look to the other kingdoms for that,’ Dwalin stated firmly. ‘We’ve not enough fighters left to raise an army on our own.’

‘Doubtless our fellows would also be only too happy to help – once the dragon is dead and for a suitable fee, of course,’ Dis added bitterly.

Thorin could sympathise with this bitterness, at least. For all that his gold-sick mind had relied upon Dain’s arrival for help against the Men and Elves, in his right mind he was not unaware that his cousin had only joined him after the gold was theirs once more.

‘Nevertheless,’ he added, ‘we do not need an army and we already have some volunteers, do we not?’

Here Dwalin made a scoffing noise which emphasised his opinion of the volunteers only too well. The guardsman had not been particularly impressed by the quality of the dwarves who had agreed to come.

‘A mostly-deaf healer, a penny-pincher, a prissy tea-drinker,’ Dwalin ignored the outraged noises of Balin and Dís, both of whom liked a good cup of tea, ‘a scribe younger than even the lads and the Valar-damned thief! These are what we take with us to Erebor. Unless we want to drug the dragon’s wine or talk him to sleep, I do not understand why we are taking any of them!’

‘We are taking,’ Thorin said slowly and carefully, ‘the most talented healer we have left to us, the dwarf who is willing to bankroll the expedition and drives the hardest bargain in Ered Luin, a dwarf who rivals even you for strength, a dwarf your own brother has been training for over a year and a thief even you cannot seem to catch in the act. Forgive me, Dwalin, but for a company planning to travel halfway across Middle Earth and then break into a dragon’s hoard they seem rather logical choices.’

Silence met this pronouncement and for a long moment none seemed willing to break it. Then Dwalin put forth his main objection.

‘They none of them have any recent training, Thorin, except Ori and his is far too recent for my tastes.’

‘Then train them,’ Thorin answered bluntly. He watched Dwalin, saw the idea take hold and was satisfied that that argument was put paid to for a while. Though what Dwalin would think of Bofur and Bombur he didn’t know. Bifur, at least, had fought in the long campaign against the orcs and had been known for his skill in battle.

«««

Despite some objections, all of the members of the Company agreed to attend Dwalin’s first training session later that week. This included the recent additions of Bifur, Bofur and Bombur, who had volunteered to put their own money towards the provisions and told Thorin that Bombur and Bofur would be happy to cook along the way.

Thorin had also decided to use Dwalin’s training sessions to get to know the members of his Company a little before they departed. Last time he had left almost all of the organisation to Balin and had barely been able to remember some of their names when they started out. This time he positioned himself near to Ori first of all, sure that his proximity to the young scribe would draw both Dori and Nori over soon enough.

Ori had been firmly told by Dwalin that a slingshot was ‘no weapon for a battle, lad,’ and had instead been given Dwalin’s war hammer to train with. Dwalin had been surprised to discover that Ori was nearly as strong as his brother, held back only by his youth and the fact that he had not completely finished growing. He took to the weapon well and Thorin made sure to give him some basic tips on how to use the hammer without hurting his fellows or himself.

As he had anticipated Dori and Nori soon appeared close to their younger brother, much to Ori’s embarrassment. He attempted to stutter an apology to Thorin, who brushed it off easily.

‘There is no harm done, Ori. We all protect our families as best we can.’

‘Yes,’ Dori said emphatically, ‘we do. No matter who we must protect them against!’

Ah, Thorin thought, that is your concern, is it?

‘You have no need to fear, Master Dori,’ Thorin told him sincerely. ‘I wish all of my Company to be well-prepared for battle, that is all. I would not be averse to knowing a bit more about those I am trusting with my nephews’ lives either,’ he added.

This seemed to placate Dori at least. Nori simply looked on suspiciously, whilst also trying to keep one eye on Dwalin at all times. How he managed it without going cross-eyed Thorin could not tell.

‘Nori,’ he called softly, snapping all of the thief’s attention to him. Nori raised one of his braided eyebrows in enquiry.

‘Dwalin does not like having you along, I will admit. You are no fool and lying would be to no purpose. However, for all of Dwalin’s faults he is utterly loyal to _our_ family.’ At this all three of the brothers looked shocked. Their relationship to the line of Durin was an open secret which was never spoken of in public in Ered Luin. Thorin continued, pretending he had not seen this. In his eyes these dwarves were his brothers already, for they had proven loyal and stalwart to the last despite his faults. ‘He will allow no harm to come to Ori. Nor will he fail to guard your back as long as you are a member of this Company.’

‘I can take care of myself,’ Ori blurted out, before dropping his head quickly and apparently attempting to pretend he had not spoken.

‘As can Fíli and Kíli I am sure,’ Thorin told him. ‘But Dwalin will watch out for them, as he will for you, because he is a trained Captain of the Guard and a veteran warrior. It is his instinct to protect the less-experienced members of any party that he leads.’

‘I have your word on this?’ Nori asked then. ‘Ori will come to no harm and I will not be conveniently “lost” off the side of a mountain on the way?’

Thorin was startled to learn that Nori was so concerned about both points. How much had he missed when he had been so caught up in his own plans and concerns the first time around?

‘I cannot promise he will come to no harm at all, Nori, you know that,’ Thorin received a nod of acceptance from both older brothers. ‘However, you have my word that you will all be protected to the best of our ability. It is the reason you are here this evening. Dwalin would know strengths and weaknesses before we start out.’

Dori and Nori looked at each other and held a silent conversation, then turned back to Thorin and bowed in unison.

‘Then we are at your service, Your Majesty.’

‘Thank you, kinsmen,’ Thorin answered, ‘you do me honour.’ He moved on to speak to Balin without catching the surprised but gratified glances he received from his companions.

«««

Two days later Gandalf arrived in Ered Luin as Thorin had hoped he would. Now, at last, he would be able to reveal their way into the mountain. The plan for killing Smaug remained cloudy in Thorin’s mind at best but that could be remedied at a later date. This was the information he could have had no way of knowing until the wizard arrived.

‘Thorin Oakenshield, I am glad to see you are unharmed,’ Gandalf informed him. Thorin had been certain that the wizard thoroughly enjoyed the all-knowing persona he put on, despite his oft-heard grumbling about being the only sensible one on the quest. Clearly, this time was to be no different on one front at least.

‘I am indeed. I would say the same for you, except that I do not have any idea who you are!’ It took barely any effort to make himself sound irritated. The wizard had used them for his own ends and apparently had known much that he had chosen not to share. Mahal, once he had begun to make headway with Thorin, had shared that he was not entirely sanguine about Gandalf’s methods either.

‘I am Gandalf the Grey,’ the wizard announced in a suitably portentous voice.

‘Ah, then I do know who you are. It is long since you have been among the dwarves of Erebor, Tharkûn. What would you have of us?’ This seemed to startle Gandalf slightly. Perhaps he was not yet used to companions who spoke so bluntly.

‘That is a conversation I would prefer to have indoors, Master Oakenshield, away from nosy ears and prying eyes.’

‘Very well, then,’ Thorin replied. ‘Come inside.’

That said he turned and walked into the forge. Fíli and Kíli were most surprised to see a tall man in a long grey cloak entering after their uncle. They had never known him to have such visitors – or any at all, unless they were customers.

‘Do we have new work, Uncle?’ Fíli asked politely, mindful of his manners while he was still under threat of remaining at home.

‘No, Fíli. Our guest wishes for conversation rather than smith-work. This is Tharkûn, or Gandalf, depending on which tongue you prefer.’

‘The wizard!’ Kíli exclaimed. ‘What…. Uncle, should we go to Balin for the afternoon?’

Thorin could not decide whether he was more proud or amused. If Kíli was restraining his curiosity then Dwalin was right – the boys’ heads really were in a spin over being left behind. Thorin contemplated sending them to Balin simply to test their resolve, but he could not justify it. They had done very well indeed in the last few weeks.

‘No, boys,’ he said, ‘You may have the afternoon to yourselves. You have earned it.’

Kíli whooped and performed a little jig on the spot, before grabbing his brother’s arm and hauling him out of the forge, presumably to escape before Thorin could change his mind. Thorin heard a quiet chuckle behind him and turned to see their guest smiling.

‘They are a cheerful pair,’ Gandalf commented, still smiling as he looked out the door after them.

‘They are,’ Thorin answered, allowing his affection to leak into his tone. ‘Their mother and I are proud of them.’

‘And their father?’ Gandalf questioned. Thorin looked over at him and saw that the question was a genuine one. Strange, he had thought Gandalf had researched their family thoroughly before he tracked Thorin down the first time.

‘Their father would be too,’ Thorin told him. ‘Unfortunately, he has not lived long enough to see them into adulthood.’

Gandalf inclined his head solemnly, all trace of amusement fled.

‘I am sorry to hear it,’ he assured Thorin, who nodded his acceptance in turn.

‘To business, then,’ Thorin said, changing the subject rather abruptly. ‘Why was it you sought me out? I am assuming that it was myself you sought.’

‘It was,’ the wizard replied. Briefly, he told Thorin the same tale he had last time of being attacked on the road and of Thorin being hunted. Thorin kept his face a blank mask, rather than risk betraying his lack of surprise. A threat against his life did not seem the sort of thing he should be unsurprised by.

‘If you have come to give me warning, Gandalf, then you have my gratitude. My nephews and I are to set out on a journey soon. If I am being hunted then I will be stricter about setting watches than I would have been.’ There, Thorin thought, let us see what the wizard makes of that.

‘A journey, you say?’ Gandalf questioned. ‘May I enquire where you intend to journey to, Master Oakenshield? The world is not as safe as once it was.’

‘So I have come to believe,’ Thorin informed him. ‘I have heard reports of rakhâs where they have not been seen since before the war.’

If Gandalf was surprised to hear Khuzdul spoken in front of an outsider he did not show it. Instead he nodded and looked at Thorin piercingly.

‘I would say your reports are correct, Master Oakenshield,’ Gandalf affirmed, ‘and, if you have no great objection to my knowing, I would wish to hear where you are going.’

‘It is nothing you could not find out from ten minutes’ conversation in the nearest tavern,’ Thorin told him. ‘My nephews and I, along with certain other companions, travel to Erebor.’

‘To Erebor!’ now Gandalf did look startled. ‘To what purpose?’

‘To kill the dragon if we can,’ Thorin answered, ‘and if so to reclaim our homeland so that our people might live in greater safety than they do here.’

‘Indeed,’ Gandalf sounded as satisfied as Thorin had expected. ‘Such was the counsel I gave to your father many years ago, though he did not heed it. His mind seemed set on Moria instead and I could not dissuade him.’

‘I am sorry you did not succeed,’ Thorin stated plainly. ‘Much might have been different had Grandfather and Father turned to Erebor rather than Moria. Then again, it might not. I will be the first to admit that my aim is quite as dangerous as theirs and with no greater chance of success.’

‘Well there,’ Gandalf said confidently, ‘I may be able to help you.’

So saying, he produced the map and key Thorin had awaited from beneath his cloak. Despite his near-certainty that the situation would play out as it had before, Thorin could not deny a sense of relief at seeing the items in person once more. Without them, he would have been forced to disband the quest to Erebor without ever leaving Ered Luin. He schooled his face to calm and looked enquiringly at the wizard.

‘These Thrain left in my keeping some years ago,’ Gandalf told him as he had before. ‘The map tells of a secret door into the mountain, invisible to the eye and only opened by this key.’

‘A door!’ Thorin fervently wished he were a better actor. This was more difficult than he had realised. ‘You know where this door is?’

‘Ah,’ Gandalf murmured, as Thorin had noted he often did when forced to admit there was something he did not know.

‘You do not,’ Thorin said heavily, forcing a look of disappointment. ‘Of course it was too much to hope it should be so easy.’

‘I may not know,’ Gandalf said sharply, ‘but I am perfectly capable of directing you to one who will. There is a message hidden in this map and if anyone can read it still it will be Lord Elrond of Rivendell.’

The wizard had drawn himself to his full height in the face of Thorin’s lack of faith in him, which nearly drew Thorin into an extremely unwise fit of laughter. It was also clear that Gandalf was preparing for an argument and Thorin gained no small amount of pleasure from taking the air out of his bellows.

‘You believe Lord Elrond will know how this message was written?’ he queried. ‘Would he tell us even if he did? I had received the distinct impression that the elves liked Smaug where he is.’

‘As to Lord Elrond’s view of the matter, you may leave that to me,’ Gandalf asserted firmly. ‘Journey to Rivendell with me and I will see that the map is read.’

‘You are most kind,’ Thorin said carefully. ‘I would ask a question of you in return for one you asked of me.’ He looked to the wizard and saw a nod of agreement.

‘What is _your_ interest in this matter, Gandalf?’ he asked. ‘I believe my own can be quite easily understood, but I cannot see why the fate of a dwarven kingdom would be of interest to one of your kind.’

Thorin realised after the fact that his phrasing was far from conciliatory, but it was a question the leader of such an expedition would need the answer to and Gandalf could hardly fault him for it.

‘I would see the dragon dead as you would,’ Gandalf told him. ‘Smaug is a powerful force for evil and I am of the opinion that there are plenty of those as it is. Better that he is dead where he cannot be used by anyone or anything else.’

By this point, Thorin was getting tired of pretending not to know the information he was being given, but not to ask would have been extremely suspicious.

‘Used? Who, or what, would be able to use a dragon? As I remember they have their own agendas and they are perfectly capable of deciding those for themselves.’

‘There are forces of evil in this world powerful enough to command even a dragon, Thorin Oakenshield,’ Gandalf declared, being deliberately mysterious Thorin was sure. ‘They would turn your people’s foe into a terrifying weapon.’

That was enough information to be getting on with, Thorin decided. He had no doubt Gandalf would stay for dinner at least, and he would have time to winkle the details out of the wizard later. Thorin had no sooner decided on this course of action than he learned that Gandalf had other plans.

‘Now,’ Gandalf stated as abruptly as Thorin had earlier, ‘there comes the matter of your burglar.’

‘Nori?’ Thorin said after a moment, faking bemusement and cursing wizards and their determination to do things in their own time. ‘What would you need of him?’

‘As I have no idea who Nori is, I doubt I shall need him at all,’ Gandalf replied irritably. ‘I am trying to speak of a burglar.’

‘So was I,’ Thorin responded with equal, if feigned, irritation. ‘I admit Nori would consider himself more a thief than a burglar, but I have no doubt he has burgled more than one house in his time.’

‘I am very happy for him,’ Gandalf responded, ‘but hopefully he will not need to. Smaug would recognise the smell of a dwarf in an instant – he could hardly help but do so after so long spent living in their home.’

‘You will forgive me if I have little sympathy for his plight,’ Thorin muttered under his breath, admitting to himself that he was enjoying perturbing Gandalf more than a little. It was nice to be the one with more information for a change.

‘If I might finish _without_ interruption,’ Gandalf uttered pointedly. Thorin bowed politely in apology. ‘Thank you. Smaug will recognise the smell of this Nori (whoever he might be) but he will not have come across a creature such as the burglar I have in mind for you.’

‘You are certain of this?’ Thorin questioned him.

‘Absolutely certain, Master Oakenshield,’ Gandalf replied importantly. ‘I cannot think of any point when Smaug would have had occasion to come across a Hobbit.’

‘Then he and I have something in common, for once,’ Thorin stated, still feigning confusion. ‘What, exactly, is a hobbit?’

‘Hobbits are remarkable little creatures. A little smaller than your race, extremely light on their feet, they can pass entirely unnoticed should they choose.’

‘A helpful trait,’ Thorin acknowledged. ‘You know a hobbit with experience of burglary then? One who would be willing to help us on our quest?’

‘This, also, you may leave up to me. I shall give you a map to Bilbo’s home and you may meet me there in three weeks’ time.’

At this point, another step to Thorin’s plan was forming swiftly. He would be the first to admit that he and Bilbo had got off to a terrible start and from what he had heard on their journey the rest of the Company had not fared much better. Much of this, Thorin had been led to believe from Bilbo’s pointed comments to Gandalf, had grown out of the wizard’s decision to spring thirteen visitors and a quest involving a dragon on the hobbit without any warning and when he was about to eat supper and go to bed. If Thorin and the Company, or some of the Company at least, could meet Bilbo first… well, they surely could not make a worse impression.

‘Bilbo?’ he asked carefully, trying to glean a little more from Gandalf in the hope that the wizard would not be quite so surprised to find himself pre-empted.

‘Yes, Bilbo,’ Gandalf snapped, apparently out of patience. ‘Bilbo Baggins of the Shire. He will make a fine burglar, Master Oakenshield. Simply leave this to me and meet me as I have requested.’

Now, Gandalf produced another map from under his cloak. Gandalf held the map out to Thorin, who accepted it with another bow. Feeling that he should probably try to soothe Gandalf a little, Thorin offered an invitation to dinner. It was dismissed swiftly.

‘No, no, I cannot stop,’ Gandalf told him even as he gathered his hat and staff and headed for the door. ‘I have much to do before we meet again. Three weeks, Master Oakenshield. I will leave a sign for you on the door.’

With that, the wizard swept out of the forge and strode down the lane at speed. Thorin, looking after him, spared a thought for Bilbo’s poor, freshly-painted front door.

«««

That evening, after their third training session under Dwalin, Thorin asked the rest of the Company to stay for a while. He had considered only speaking to Balin and Dwalin of Gandalf’s visit, but the news about the wizard’s arrival had travelled fast and he could see the others were curious. To send them away without informing them of the “new” information would seem needlessly secretive. He could also admit, to himself at least, that he felt sorry for them. Though most of them were brave and skilled warriors, they were also out of practice and Dwalin had taken to the idea of training them rather more fervently than Thorin had expected. He had a brief word with Dís and she sent to the tavern for a barrel of ale, which she handed out as the Company entered their home.

‘Ah lass, you’re a sight for sore eyes,’ Bofur cried, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek. Dís, Thorin noted with amusement, flushed and quickly turned her attention back to the barrel.

‘Had I done that, she’d have hit me with that Mahal-damned spoon she’s so fond of,’ Dwalin groused in Thorin’s ear.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Brother,’ Balin responded gaily from Thorin’s other side. ‘Had you done that she would have skipped the spoon and castrated you instead!’

Thorin shook his head at the pair of them and made sure to give Dís his own kiss, just for the fun of watching her glare balefully at him as he moved to sit down.

It took some work to get them all seated in the moderately-sized room where Thorin and his family cooked and ate. Eventually, with the younger members of the Company seated on the floor and certain family members sharing space (Nori sat himself squarely on Dori’s lap, grinning at his brother’s irritated squawk), it was accomplished.

‘You all know that Gandalf visited me earlier,’ Thorin opened with, seeing a number of nods and looks of curiosity. ‘He had come, aptly enough, to encourage me to return to Erebor and reclaim our kingdom.’

There were a number of chuckles around the room, and Thorin heard Glóin announce ‘Not like a wizard to be behind the times!’ He allowed them their moment of amusement before continuing.

‘This is good news for our quest. With him Gandalf brought a map of the mountain which showed a secret door into Erebor and the key with which to open it.’ As Thorin had expected, this led to much rejoicing and a number of toasts with mostly empty flagons.

‘The location of the door, however,’ he continued shortly, ‘is hidden in a message on the map. We all know the skills of our ancestors. Without deciphering that message we will have no hope of finding our way in.’

This quickly settled the earlier merriment into resigned expressions. It was a sign of the fortunes of their people that they were almost entirely unsurprised to come across such a setback. Thorin was glad he would be able to lighten their spirits a little shortly.

‘Balin will be able to read it though, won’t he?’ Ori ventured, looking to his Master with complete faith.

Thorin shook his head as Balin looked to him questioningly. Balin nodded without asking to see the map, presumably trusting that Thorin would have thought of this option already.

‘I am afraid not, Ori,’ Thorin told him as gently as he could. ‘According to Gandalf there is only one person who might be able to read the map for us. Lord Elrond of Rivendell is apparently well-versed in a number of forms of writing, including this one.’

Now Thorin heard groans of disgust and mutterings of discontent among the assembled dwarves. It was a sentiment he had anticipated. The dwarves had had little fondness for elves even before they fled Erebor, but most of the inhabitants of Ered Luin took any accusation of being “like an elf” as a grave insult. Unfortunately, it was a habit he could not allow them to indulge.

‘You all know,’ he said loudly, catching their attention, ‘from speaking to Balin or Dwalin that our purpose in going to Erebor is not only to reclaim the mountain.’ He saw chagrin on more than one face at the reminder. ‘The wrongs that we have suffered in the past, as well as the ones that we have inflicted, must be forgotten. I am not asking any of you to become friendly with Lord Elrond’s household, or even with Thranduil’s when we meet them, but I cannot have rudeness or disrespect shown to them. We may well need their aid one day. I will not have it denied again because of our behaviour on this quest.’

Now they all nodded their acceptance, recognising an order from their king when they heard one. Thorin was not surprised. He had made no secret of his own dislike of elves the first time round and his Company had followed his lead in showing their true feelings. Hopefully with so clear an order in place they could avoid that problem this time around.

‘There is only one more thing,’ he said then, not wishing to dwell on that subject. ‘Gandalf has informed me that he has found us a burglar to aid in our quest.’

Nori sat bolt upright at this statement, nearly elbowing Dori in the face in the process. Apparently his professional pride had been offended. He either did not notice or pretended not to see Dwalin’s glower at such an open admission of how Nori had been making his money.

‘Gandalf meant no offence to any among this Company,’ Thorin assured Nori. In fact, the old wizard had barely seemed to register that there was another thief in the Company at all. ‘He assured me that Smaug would be very familiar with the scent of dwarf and that we would need a scent he was not so familiar with to fool him.’

‘Stands to reason,’ Dori commented, looking relieved at the idea that it might not be Nori heading in to confront Smaug in person.

‘Not another bloody elf,’ Glóin groaned almost simultaneously.

‘No, Glóin, not another elf,’ Thorin assured him, ignoring a number of thankful sighs.

‘Balin,’ Thorin said, turning to his old friend, ‘what do you know of hobbits?’

‘Hobbits?’ Balin replied with obvious surprise. ‘Very little, in truth. They are of a more normal size than either men or elves, if a bit smaller than us. Other than that I know only that they keep to themselves and are rarely seen outside their own homes to the south of here.’

‘Hmm,’ Thorin responded, inwardly smiling. ‘That is what I thought. Tell me, Balin, does it seem likely to you that a member of such a race would have great experience of burglary? Or that they would be willing to come on a quest halfway across Middle Earth to confront a dragon?’

‘What are you thinking, lad?’ Balin asked him suspiciously. ‘Do you not trust the wizard’s word?’

‘Gandalf was very careful not to give me any word at all,’ Thorin told him, thoroughly enjoying himself. ‘All he would say was to “leave it to him”.’

‘You don’t think this hobbit is a burglar at all, do you, Uncle?’ Fíli interjected. ‘Do you think Gandalf is lying to us about having someone in mind?’

‘No,’ Thorin said to his nephew, silently thanking him for the opening, ‘I think Gandalf does have someone in mind. I am wondering, though, whether his burglar has any experience. Or whether Gandalf has actually asked him to join us.’

‘So what do we do then?’ Bofur asked, not at all reluctant to add his own contribution. ‘Do we try to do without another burglar?’

At this Nori gave an undignified squeak, most likely because of the hold Dori had around his waist and Ori about his ankle.

‘We dare not,’ Balin said firmly. ‘Gandalf is right enough about how familiar our scent will be to Smaug.’

‘I propose,’ Thorin told them, ‘that we follow the map that Gandalf has so helpfully given us and arrive before him. Let us speak to Master Bilbo Baggins ourselves and see what he has to say about joining our Company.’

««««««

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Limul = gold  
> Rakhâs = Orcs


	3. More Than Meets The Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How do you recruit a burglar without a wizard to help you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to all those who have left comments and kudos. I am hoarding them as happily as a dragon with his treasure!
> 
> I should probably have mentioned before that the title is part of a longer quote, which doesn't really apply to this story in full. 'History teaches us that history cannot teach us'.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy the chapter. Let me know what you think - and for the eagle-eyed of you, what I've missed this time around. :)

Chapter Three: More Than Meets The Eye

With Thorin’s plan agreed by the Company, the remainder of their preparations were swiftly concluded. It did take Glóin nearly a week to assemble enough ponies for all of them but shortly afterwards they were on the road once more.

The plan, in short, was that Thorin should arrive two days before Gandalf’s anticipated arrival. He would be accompanied by Balin, Ori and Kíli who were judged to be the least intimidating of the group and thus less likely to induce a panic attack in Master Baggins. Once the Company entered the Shire more than one of them nodded their heads sagely at the wisdom of this plan. Imagine, they murmured to one another, the response of these soft folk if Dwalin were to arrive at their door.

Another important part of Thorin’s plan, though he had not felt the need to disclose it, was to arrive around mid-morning. This seemed a much more courteous time for visitors and was as close as Thorin could get to a period when Bilbo was unlikely to be dining. Not even a year of travel had accustomed Thorin to the idea of how often hobbits needed to eat. He remembered clearly a moment when he had realised the task that would have stood before him had he led a kingdom of hobbits into exile. The thought had been used to comfort himself in the face of a number of trials during their journey.

Leaving the rest of the Company at The Green Dragon in Bywater, Thorin and his companions set forth alone to try and find Bilbo’s home. With all of the Shire looking so similar Thorin had no doubt he would be as lost this time as he had been in the dark. Luckily the problem was averted.

‘Uncle,’ Kíli called, ‘which way are we going?’

Thorin looked in bemusement at his empty hand, which had held a map only moments ago.

‘I'll be taking that, I think,’ Balin informed him from his right. ‘There’s no need for us to be going round in circles all day.’

‘You could not resist, could you?’ Thorin sighed. ‘Even without Dwalin here there had to be some comment on it.’

‘Could a dwarf ignore a troll in the middle of his kitchen?’ Balin queried mildly. ‘Surely so large a… feature has to garner an acknowledgement.’

‘Oh shut up!’ Thorin snapped at him, trying not to flush. His efforts were not helped by Kíli and Ori trying to restrain laughter behind him. Ori, at least, was doing a better job.

‘This way,’ Balin instructed them, apparently completely unconcerned by his King’s irritation. This was the trouble with old friends and advisors, Thorin thought to himself. They didn’t even have the good manners to pretend they weren’t trying to embarrass you.

«««

Stood outside Bag End for the first time in over a year, Thorin was seized with a feeling of anxiety. Why had he not thought more about what he was going to say? Without Gandalf to introduce them, Bilbo would have no idea who they were or why they wanted him to join them. There was nothing even remotely likely to convince him to come along. What if he just refused and stuck with his refusal this time?

‘There’s no point just looking at it,’ Balin commented. ‘The door won’t knock itself.’

‘I am going to regret bringing you along at some point, aren’t I?’ Thorin asked him very quietly. Balin laughed.

‘If you aren’t already regretting it, Thorin, I’m doing something wrong,’ he replied. ‘Go on, we’ve not got all day.’

Steeling himself, Thorin walked up the steps and knocked on Bilbo’s freshly painted front door. There was a moment of silence, then a familiar voice called from inside.

‘One moment, I’m coming,’ and then more quietly, ‘ _please_ don’t be Otho and Lobelia.’

The door was pulled open and a harried-looking Bilbo Baggins was revealed. His almost-grimace was quickly replaced by relief and then by confusion.

‘Can I help you?’

Thorin could not resist the temptation.

‘Annoying neighbours call frequently, do they?’ he asked with a smile. Seeing the smile Bilbo relaxed, though he did look rather flustered.

‘You heard that? Oh dear, oh dear. I hope nobody else has heard me when I’m coming to answer the door.’ Bilbo did, in fact, looked quite concerned. Thorin made a mental note to ask, when they were more familiar with one another, exactly what Bilbo had been saying about his neighbours behind closed doors.

‘Definitely annoying neighbours, then,’ Thorin told him with confidence. He did not have to wait long to be corrected.

‘No, not at all,’ Bilbo told him briskly. ‘Annoying relatives, which is even worse. I’m sorry, do I know you?’

Balin coughed quietly from the lane, reminding Thorin that he really must present quite a strange appearance – standing at a stranger’s door and commenting on his manners.

‘I do apologise,’ he said more formally. ‘Thorin Oakenshield, at your service. These are my companions, Balin and Ori, and my nephew Kíli.’

Each of the dwarves bowed in turn as their name was said, then chorused, ‘At your service.’

‘I am Bilbo Baggins, at yours,’ Bilbo replied with a clear expression of confusion. ‘I’m terribly sorry, have we met?’

‘No, Master Baggins, we have not,’ Balin assured him. ‘That, however, is something we would like to remedy. Might we come in?’

‘Oh!’ Bilbo exclaimed, startled. ‘Oh, of… of course, please, come in.’

‘Thank you, that’s very kind,’ Balin responded, striding up the steps with the boys following him and giving Thorin a firm nudge in the back. Thorin stepped forward himself as Bilbo pulled the door open wide and entered the smial.

It was just as homely as he remembered, filled with light despite its underground location, and smelled of freshly baked bread and cakes. Apparently Bilbo had been restocking his pantry that day.

‘Oh dear,’ the hobbit murmured to himself. ‘I’m not sure if I have enough food for everyone. Today’s bread is not done yet, there’s only the old loaf – perhaps with some cheese…’

‘We will be fine, Master Boggins,’ Kíli began. Only to be firmly corrected by Ori, much to his astonishment.

‘His name is Master Baggins, Kíli!’ Ori told him. He then turned to Bilbo and said politely, ‘Please don’t worry, Master Baggins, we have not long had breakfast and three meals a day are quite enough for most dwarves.’

‘Only three,’ Bilbo cried. ‘Goodness, do you not get hungry?’

‘Not most of us,’ Kíli informed him cheerily. ‘At least not unless it’s been a very long time since breakfast. Though I’ll wager Bombur could eat all day and all night and still be hungry.’   

‘Is this Master Bombur with you?’ Bilbo asked with concern and Thorin decided that the whole conversation needed to be swiftly brought back under control. At this rate they would make no better an impression than last time.

‘He awaits us at the inn, Master Baggins,’ Thorin assured him, ‘along with the rest of our companions. Please do not be alarmed, I had no intention of expecting you to feed us. To invite ourselves to dinner would be extremely rude.’

‘Quite,’ Balin agreed. ‘We will have our conversation with you, if you do not mind, and then we will join the others once more.’

‘Of course, of course,’ Bilbo told them. ‘Please come through to the parlour.’

He took their cloaks and ushered them in to a warm room with several chairs and rugs, along with a number of bookcases. Balin and Ori’s eyes lit up and Thorin resolved to keep an eye on the pair of them. If he was not careful he would have to physically remove them from Bilbo’s home. Once they were all sat down, after assuring Bilbo that they were perfectly fine without tea or anything to eat, Bilbo looked at Thorin expectantly.

‘Not that it is not lovely to have visitors, Master Oakenshield,’ he said, ‘but I would like to know why you have come. I have never been visited by dwarves before.’

‘The tale is something of a long one, Master Baggins,’ Thorin told him. ‘I will have to begin by asking if you know of Gandalf the Grey.’

‘Gandalf,’ Bilbo said thoughtfully, ‘the name does not seem familiar… or does it? Perhaps I have heard of him, although I cannot seem to remember when or where.’

‘He is a wizard,’ Balin informed Bilbo helpfully. ‘He wanders from place to place, all dressed in a grey cloak and a tall, pointed hat, leaning on a wooden staff.’

‘Oh, I do know who you mean, I think,’ Bilbo told them with a little excitement. ‘He was a strange old fellow, but he used to come to the Old Took’s parties. He told the best stories and made the most amazing fireworks any of us had ever seen.’

Balin looked a little surprised, as did Kíli and Ori. Whether this was at the thought of a wizard stooping to make fireworks or because the younger two had never seen fireworks themselves, Thorin was not sure. In the vast halls of Erebor fireworks had not been unknown, but in their more modest homes in Ered Luin storing large amounts of explosives and then setting them off had never seemed wise.

‘Gandalf visited us nearly three weeks ago,’ Thorin said, taking up the thread of his tale once more. ‘He had two artefacts which had once belonged to my father, a map and a key to the kingdom we once ruled, Erebor.’

‘Ruled?’ Bilbo asked. ‘Then you are a king? Your Majesty, I am sorry, I did not know. And to think I left you standing at the door!’

‘It is nothing to be concerned about, Master Baggins,’ Thorin said quickly, not wishing for their burglar to become overawed or too concerned about propriety. ‘These days I am less a king than a leader of an exiled people and I spend more time working in a forge than I do ruling.’

Balin looked at Thorin askance. While the Thorin he knew had never had too many airs and graces, he had certainly stood on his dignity at times, particularly with outsiders. Though his friend had changed much in recent weeks (he, Dís and Dwalin had all commented on it) his courtesy towards this hobbit was unusual. Clearly Thorin was serious about the need to endear themselves to other races. Perhaps, for once, Balin would not spend all his time trying smooth the rough edges of Thorin’s diplomacy.

‘Oh, well, as long as you are sure,’ Bilbo replied, heedless of Balin’s line of thought. ‘I am sorry, please, continue.’

‘Thank you,’ Thorin said graciously. ‘Gandalf came to me with the map and key, wishing that I return to Erebor and try to take it back. This I had already planned to do. However, to do so successfully would require skills that not many of my Company possess. It would also require one not of our race.’

‘Not a dwarf?’ Bilbo questioned. ‘Whyever not? Can you not open the door yourselves?’

At this Kíli piped up and Thorin nearly clutched his head in despair. Why had he thought bringing the younger of his nephews along was the best idea?

‘It is not the door that is the problem, Master… Baggins,’ Kíli pronounced the last word carefully, mindful of Ori’s stern look. Had Thorin not been frantically wishing that his nephew would miraculously lose his voice, he would have been entertained by Ori’s growing confidence. ‘The problem is what’s _inside_ the door.’

At this point Bilbo only looked more puzzled. As Thorin seemed to be doing his best to silence Kíli through the power of thought, Balin felt it would be wisest to intervene.

‘Master Baggins, many, many years ago,’ he began, ‘when Thorin and I were only young ourselves, our kingdom was attacked. _Not_ ,’ he emphasised, ‘by an army. An army we could have closed the gates to without any fear of being overcome. We were attacked, instead, by a dragon.’

‘A dragon!’ Bilbo all but shouted. ‘Do such things still exist?’

‘Only one, we think,’ Ori interrupted, looking concerned at the constant state of nervousness Bilbo seemed to be in. ‘Only Smaug.’

‘Which would be more comforting were he not _living in our home_ ,’ Kíli added. Thorin contemplated fetching his cloak to gag his nephew with. Instead, he spoke sharply.

‘Kíli, when we need your help with our explanation Balin and I will ask for it.’

Kíli looked at his Uncle in shock at first. Then he finally seemed to realise what they were trying to accomplish and sank back into his seat.

‘It is not too late for me to send you home,’ Thorin reminded him in a quiet undertone.

‘No, Uncle. Sorry, Uncle,’ Kíli responded, looking mortified at having failed so early on. Satisfied that there would be no more helpful interruptions Thorin turned back to Balin and Bilbo. Bilbo was watching Kíli sympathetically and gave the lad a small smile.

‘It’s alright,’ he added, ‘no harm done.’ Looking at Thorin first and then Balin, the hobbit gave a wry smile. ‘That is what you were building up to, was it not? The fact that the dragon is still inside Erebor.’

‘It was,’ Thorin acknowledged. ‘Gandalf and I both feel that is important to kill Smaug once and for all. That is why I return to Erebor with my Company.’

‘It is a worthy task, I am sure,’ Bilbo told him, ‘but how exactly does it lead you to my door?’

‘That, too, is Gandalf’s idea for the most part,’ Thorin replied. ‘It is important that we try to destroy Smaug without turning his ire upon the people who live around Erebor. Dragonfire is more destructive than any flame I have ever seen and it is not easily quenched.’

Bilbo nodded his understanding of this necessity, then waved his hand to encourage Thorin to finish his point.

‘Initially,’ Thorin continued with a certain amount of dishonesty, ‘it was my intention that another member of our Company, Ori’s brother Nori, should enter Erebor.’

Here Bilbo looked at Ori curiously. He seemed to be weighing Ori’s appearance in his mind before asking, ‘Is your brother very good at sneaking up on dragons, Master Ori?’

‘I don’t think he’s ever tried,’ Ori responded with a giggle. ‘He tells me he’s very good at sneaking up on guardsmen without them noticing, though.’

‘Which would explain much about his ongoing disagreement with my brother,’ Balin commented drily. ‘Do I dare ask how much of our family’s property Nori is currently in possession of, Ori?’

Ori looked terribly ashamed, only easing when Balin gave him an affectionate smile to reassure the younger dwarf that he was teasing.

‘He almost always gives it back, Master Balin,’ Ori hurried to assure his tutor. ‘Nori says that Master Dwalin goes…’ here he trailed off, seeming to reconsider what he was about to say. Balin decided to help him out.

‘He goes a truly wondrous shade of red and blusters loudly about throwing Nori in the lowest cell and never letting him out,’ Balin finished off. ‘I have seen the sight once, Ori. I will confess it amused me as well.’

They shared conspiratorial grins and Thorin began to wonder if encouraging Fíli and Kíli to spend so much time with Balin was a good idea after all. He also wondered if the Company were ever going to get from one end of a conversation to the other without diverting to five different topics on the way. If their journey were this bad they would not reach Erebor by Durin’s Day five years hence.

‘In sum, Master Baggins,’ Thorin said, trying to finally reach their point, ‘Nori would not be a wise choice because Smaug has been living in a dwarven kingdom for many years and would doubtless smell him before he could get close enough to do the deed. Instead, Gandalf suggested another race of Middle Earth might be of help to us. He tells me that hobbits are extremely quiet and capable of virtually disappearing if they wish to.’

‘Well,’ Bilbo said, straightening unconsciously, ‘I do not know that I would say we “disappear” but it is true that Men rarely notice us unless we wish them to. The problem with Men is that they never think to look any closer to the ground than the end of their noses.’

‘A problem we have encountered as well, laddie,’ Balin agreed. ‘They really should pay more attention.’

‘I am sorry, Master Oakenshield,’ Bilbo continued, growing solemn, ‘but if you wish for a hobbit to help you kill your dragon I really think you will be out of luck. We are not a killing type of people.’ Shrugging self-deprecatingly he added, ‘We aren’t really an adventurous type of people. We like our homes and our food and our gardens and a great many parties and presents on birthdays. No hobbit has done any great deeds since Bullroarer Took and that was over two hundred years ago.’

‘That is not so long a time for a dwarf, Master Baggins,’ Balin reminded him. ‘Ori and Kili here are both older than you, I imagine, and they are young by the standards of our people.’

Bilbo was clearly surprised to learn this, but it did not sway him from his main point.

‘It is a very long time for a hobbit, Master Balin,’ he stated firmly. ‘Perhaps if you could find a particularly adventurous Took you might convince them to journey to your Erebor with you. My mother was a Took and they are a more adventurous sort in general. I very much doubt even a Took would volunteer to kill a dragon though.’

‘Gandalf had hoped, had told me in fact, that a Baggins would accompany us on our quest,’ Thorin informed Bilbo in response to this.

‘A Baggins,’ Bilbo repeated in wonderment. ‘No Baggins has ever done such a thing. Imagine a Baggins gallivanting off – oh,’ Bilbo finished slowly. ‘Oh, I have been a fool, haven’t I? That is why you are here, telling a hobbit you do not even know the story of your homeland. This Gandalf fellow has told you I will go with you.’

Bilbo went very silent for a moment, staring out into the room without seeming to see it at all. None of the others dared speak. They were all listening too intently to what Bilbo might say next.

‘Now why would he do that?’ Bilbo murmured absently to himself. ‘Someone I’ve not seen since I was a very small faunt, telling you such nonsense. I have never been any further from this smial than Frogmorton.’

Bilbo was silent for a moment more, apparently lost in thought. Then he shook himself and drew his attention back to his guests.

‘No,’ he stated with certainty, ‘I am very sorry, all of you, but I cannot come with you. Bagginses simply don’t do such things.’

‘The members of my family do not become companions to kings and princes,’ Ori said to him softly. ‘I think you would be surprised what you can do if you put your mind to it, Master Baggins.’

‘That is kindly said, Master Ori,’ Bilbo gave another of his gentle smiles. ‘Kind indeed, but I am afraid you have my answer.’

Thorin’s heart sank. Bilbo would not be swayed, then. Whatever had happened last time to change his mind had not happened today. So much for Thorin’s plans for winning him over and his vaunted second chance. To do without their hobbit would doom them entirely, unless Bard happened to perform the same feat he had managed before. It was also possible they would not even get that far without their burglar to help them.

Tempted though he was to snap and snarl in his disappointment, Thorin restrained himself. It was not, he reminded himself more than once, Bilbo’s fault that Thorin had decided to tinker with history and had miscalculated badly. Despite this self-castigation, Thorin did not quite manage to keep his voice even.

‘In that case, Master Baggins, we shall leave you to your day,’ he said, bowing to their host to try and moderate the harshness of his tone.

The other three rose and bowed as well, with the boys going in to the hallway to retrieve their belongings. Bilbo also left his chair and prepared to walk them to the door. At the last minute, just before he went to open the door, he paused.

‘Master Oakenshield?’

‘Master Baggins,’ Thorin replied gruffly.

‘How many are there in your Company?’ Bilbo asked politely.

‘We are thirteen all told,’ Balin answered in Thorin’s stead. ‘Another reason we had attempted to find a further companion, for thirteen is unlucky for dwarves. Never mind though, we will manage. We can always dispose of one of the lads if we deem it necessary.’

Thorin rolled his eyes at Balin but he could feel his spirits lightening very slightly. Balin looked pleased with himself, though still concerned. Bilbo had taken a moment to assure himself that Balin was joking before explaining his question to them.

‘I would invite you all to dinner tomorrow night,’ he told them. ‘I may not be able to accompany you on your quest, though it is a very noble one, but I can at least send you off well fed.’

‘We are not due to leave until the day after, Master Baggins,’ Thorin informed him. ‘The wizard was to meet us at your home that evening with the map and the key that we will need.’

‘Well, in that case come for an early dinner the day after next and I will be able to give you a place to stay that night as well. This is a big smial for only one hobbit, there will be plenty of room. Though I may insist that this Gandalf eat and sleep outside. Imagine trying to spring thirteen guests on a hobbit with no warning!’

‘That would be most kind of you, Master Baggins,’ Thorin answered politely and it was done. Inside Thorin felt a glimmer of hope. Perhaps Bilbo was refusing to come with them, but there might still be a chance for success.

«««

All of the dwarves were disappointed to learn that Bilbo had said he would not join them but, as they did not know him at all and had never truly expected to have him along as Thorin had, the offer of food reconciled them to the idea quickly. Thankfully, Balin pulled certain of the more boisterous members of the Company aside and made it very clear how they were to behave and what the consequences of misbehaving would be.

For Thorin the next day and a half were the most miserable he had spent since his return, despite the small hope he still retained. Up until now all had been going rather well. Nothing that he had planned had caused him any real trouble and he felt that he had improved certain areas noticeably. Now, however, he was realising that time would not simply allow itself to be rearranged as he wished. No one could predict exactly what would happen from day to day. This led very quickly to a catalogue in his mind of all the many things that could go wrong upon their journey. By the morning of the day they were to have dinner with Bilbo, a number of the party were most concerned about their leader. Fíli and Kíli, in particular, were very worried indeed.

Thorin was sat in his room at the inn, wondering if assassins were about to appear out of the woodwork just to make his day complete. Despite knowing perfectly well that he was being ridiculous and acting like a dwarf a quarter of his age, Thorin had not yet managed to pull himself out of his depression.

‘Uncle?’ he heard all of a sudden, without even realising that anyone had approached. Turning he found his nephews stood before him. They were stood very straight and their faces were creased with worry.

‘Boys. What are you doing up here? I thought you were with Balin and Bifur.’

His nephews did not answer immediately and Kíli began to rock from foot to foot without seeming to realise what he was doing. Finally Fíli seemed to muster his courage and began to speak. 

‘Uncle, if Kíli and I must go home we are packed and ready to go,’ he announced, stunning his uncle. Thorin did not know what he had expected the boys to say but that certainly was not it.

‘Go home?’ Thorin asked them carefully. ‘Why on Middle Earth would you need to go home? What have you done?’

In retrospect this was not the best phrase that Thorin could have used. Kíli looked utterly miserable and was staring intently at the floor to avoid Thorin’s gaze.

‘Kíli?’ Thorin asked sharply. ‘What have you done?’

‘I… I…’ Kíli stuttered for a moment, not quite able to answer Thorin’s question.

‘Kíli seems to feel,’ Fíli said now, answering on his brother’s behalf and stepping in front of him as if to shield him from Thorin’s gaze, ‘that he is somehow responsible for Master Baggins’ decision not to journey with us and that you are preparing to send us home for failing to keep our word.’

Thorin was fairly sure that he was gaping at the two boys in a most unattractive fashion. Of all the ideas that had occurred to him in the last few days, that Kíli might blame himself for Bilbo’s choice had never even crossed his mind. In hindsight he could see that this was foolish. He had sat in Bilbo’s home and clearly threatened to send Kíli home if he could not hold his tongue. Of course the lad would take Thorin’s refusal to speak to anyone and constant brooding as blame.

Well, Thorin decided, clearly that would have to change. He had not been given this chance so that he could repeat his own mistakes a second time around. He had already wasted two perfectly good days mithering in his own head and that was quite enough.

‘Kíli, Fíli,’ he said, making sure he had both their attention before he gentled his tone. Once they were both looking at him he started to speak. ‘Boys, I was never seriously considering sending you home. Yes, for a moment at Master Baggins’ house I did wish that Kíli would think a little more before he spoke but that hardly makes the outcome of the meeting his fault. The whole reason we are here is because I was unconvinced that Gandalf really could find a hobbit burglar for us.’

Finally Kíli looked relaxed again, though Thorin was willing to bet good money that Fíli would not forgive him so easily. Causing his brother unnecessary pain was not something Fíli looked kindly on. Indeed, Fíli’s next comment held an undertone of anger.

‘The whole Company has been concerned, Uncle,’ he told Thorin pointedly. ‘You have barely spoken to anyone for two days.’

‘Yes,’ Thorin acknowledged, ‘because I am a fool who falls back into bad habits too quickly. I apologise, as I will apologise to them when I come downstairs. I have been angry at my own failure not any fault of another member of the Company.’

‘So you will come downstairs then?’ Kíli asked eagerly. ‘We are due to leave for dinner soon. Balin has been making us all wash up.’

‘Proving once again that Balin is a wise dwarf,’ Thorin said, rising to his feet. ‘That is something I should take care of myself, boys. I will be with you shortly.’

His nephews both smiled at him, Kíli managing a wider smile than his brother, then they turned to head back down. They had only made it as far as the door when Fíli returned. He stopped close to Thorin and kept his voice low.

‘You cannot do this again, Uncle,’ he said fiercely. ‘Mum spoke to me before we left about my other duties as your heir. If this happens again I will not stand quietly as I have done in the past.’

‘I am relieved to hear it,’ Thorin told him honestly, ‘and Dís was clever to think of it. Should it happen again you have full rights to intervene.’

‘I will,’ Fíli assured him. For a moment he seemed to be about to speak again. In the end he turned away and hurried to catch Kíli. Thorin watched them both for a moment, pride and shame warring with one another, then moved himself. The sun had passed its highest point and they still had to make the journey to meet Bilbo again.

«««

To say that the residents of Hobbiton were taken aback by the parade of thirteen dwarves making their way towards Bag End mid-afternoon would be an understatement. There had been some rumours that Master Baggins had had dwarven visitors two days before. A number of enterprising hobbits had tried calling at Bag End for tea in an attempt to discover the truth of this tale from Master Baggins himself, but Bilbo had seen them off with tea and cake and a great many non-committal statements.

Curiosity had, of course, been raised to even higher heights when Bilbo arrived at the market and began buying enough food to provision the Great Smials of Tookborough for a week. What on earth could Master Baggins want with so much food? And him living alone as he did, all by himself in that big smial meant for a family. It just didn’t make sense. Something – the hobbits of Hobbiton had decided – was up.

What exactly that was had just become clear to them. While the more easily shocked of the neighbourhood could only gape in astonishment, others were nodding knowledgeably to one another.

Of course, Bell Gamgee told her husband, Master Bilbo was having all of the dwarves over for dinner. It had been all over Hobbiton that there were thirteen dwarves staying together at The Green Dragon over in Bywater. What else could Master Bilbo need all that food for? Besides, she added, everyone knew that Mistress Belladonna had been a Took and Tooks were a strange lot with some strange friends. Meaning no harm of course. Everyone had loved Mistress Belladonna.

The dwarves could not help being amused at the shock their arrival was causing. Many of them had travelled from place to place numerous times, but never before had they had a trail of young children following along behind them like ducklings. Bofur, laughing merrily, grabbed some apples out of Bombur’s saddlebags and began to juggle them to hear the children gasp and watch them point. Bifur, who was riding at the back of the column, reached into his own saddlebags and produced a small carved horse. This he handed very subtly to the youngest of their audience, who had lagged behind her fellows dragging her blanket along with her. Treating Bifur to a wide, happy smile, she quickly trotted back to her mother to show off her prize.

By the time they arrived at Bag End it seemed that Bilbo might have thirteen dwarves and half of Hobbiton for dinner. Bilbo himself, who was standing in front of his door ready to receive his guests, looked slightly alarmed. Thankfully, Dwalin positioned himself just in front of Bilbo’s front gate and the sight of the burly dwarf quickly discouraged any of the hobbits from trying to enter. After all of the dwarves had entered Bag End and the door was shut many of the hobbits waited outside for something exciting to happen. Half an hour later, when it became plain that there would be nothing to see, they grew bored and left.

Inside Bag End Bilbo was bustling around trying to make sure that his guests were all comfortable. All of their cloaks had been hung up. Their weapons, at Balin’s insistence, were stored in Bilbo’s mud room by the back door, where they would be unlikely to do any damage. When Glóin seemed reluctant to part with his axe a quarrel was only averted by Óin grabbing it out of his brother’s hand and announcing at volume, ‘For Mahal’s sake, Brother, you’re like a dwarfling with her first doll! Let Balin put it away.’

Once all of this had been dealt with and everyone was sat around Bilbo’s dining room table (laden so heavily with food that it seemed in danger of caving in at the middle) the real conversation began.

‘Master Oakenshield,’ Bilbo began, ‘I had a visitor this morning.’ This was said with a sly smile and Thorin got the distinct impression that a certain burglar had very much enjoyed giving Gandalf the run-around.

‘Indeed, Master Baggins,’ he replied smoothly. ‘Did he seem well?’

‘Better when he arrived than when he left I think,’ at which point Bilbo succumbed to laughter.

‘The two of you are as bad as each other,’ Balin complained. ‘What did you say to the wizard, Bilbo?’

If Bilbo was surprised at his title being dropped he did not show it. Once he had got his mirth under control, he told Balin that Gandalf had arrived whilst Bilbo was outside taking a break from cooking by smoking his pipe. Bilbo had claimed not to remember him until reminded of his fireworks displays and had then flatly refused all interest in an adventure or anything to do with one. Thorin felt fairly certain that the conversation had gone much as it had the first time around, despite Bilbo being in possession of all the facts this time.

‘I do not imagine that will have put the wizard off,’ Dwalin stated. ‘No doubt he will join us later.’

‘He’d best do,’ Nori commented bluntly. ‘Without that map and key we’ll get nowhere.’

‘After you left the other day,’ Bilbo said to Thorin, ‘I looked at my maps and books. You have a very long way to go. How long do you expect to be?’

‘Once we arrive I do not imagine I will often leave again, Master Baggins,’ Thorin told him.

‘Bilbo, please,’ Bilbo interrupted.

‘Thank you, Bilbo, I am Thorin as you know. Have you been introduced to all here?’

At this point Bilbo had to admit that he had missed a few of their names in the chaos of their arrival, so Balin made the introductions again.

‘Bilbo, this is my brother Dwalin. Ori you have already met – he sits with Nori and their eldest brother Dori. Kíli sits next to Thorin’s eldest nephew Fíli. Bombur and Bofur are brothers and this is their cousin Bifur. Bifur will excuse me for saying this, I’m sure, but you may have difficulty understanding him. His injury has unfortunately left him unable to speak Westron,’ Bifur grunted his acknowledgement and made a seated half-bow to Bilbo, who bowed in return. ‘Finally, we have Óin and Glóin. I do believe that is everyone.’

‘To return to your question, Bilbo,’ Thorin continued, ‘I imagine it will take us many months to reach Erebor. Once we are there I intend to remain, though I cannot speak for all present.’

‘I’ll have to come back at least once,’ Gloin stated gruffly. ‘I’ll have to join Famla and my lad, Gimli, for the journey home.’

‘Aye,’ Bofur said, ‘Bombur will have to collect his brood as well. With an entire mountain to use we might even fit them all in!’

Bombur seemed entirely unconcerned by this comment on his family and when Bilbo asked if he had many children he gave a happy smile.

‘Yes, Master Baggins,’ he said in a surprisingly soft voice for one of his size. ‘I have four currently and my wife informed me we had another on the way a few days before we left.’

There were a few instants of calm after this statement, as a number of the Company tried to remember if they had ever heard Bombur speak before. Then voices rose quickly as they all congratulated him on his good news.

‘Bombur,’ Thorin called. Once he had their cook’s attention he said, ‘You did not have to come. I would have understood if you wished to remain with your wife and children at such a time.’

‘Nula would much prefer me out of the way,’ Bombur replied, ‘so it is no trouble. She tells me she has already managed this four times and she has no need of my fussing over her as if she will break on the fifth.’

Bifur interjected something at this point, in a combination of Khuzdul and Iglishmêk, which Bofur translated for Bilbo even as he laughed at his cousin’s comment.

‘He’s right,’ Bofur announced. ‘We’d have done better bringing Nula and leaving Bombur at home. She’d have organised the dragon into submission in no time!’

‘Do many of you have families?’ Bilbo asked. ‘It is not common in the Shire for those who are married to be separated for a long time. Although I suppose no married hobbit ever leaves for a long time, so that would explain it.’

‘Not many of us now,’ Balin said gently, mindful of old hurts. ‘Bombur and Glóin are the only married members of the Company, though Fíli and Kíli’s mother also remained behind to manage Ered Luin in Thorin’s absence.’

‘Now there’s one we could definitely have done with on the journey,’ Dwalin muttered. ‘She’s lethal with that bloody spoon!’

‘Let it go, Dwalin,’ Thorin teased him. ‘Let it go. You knew what you were getting into when you opened your mouth. Dwalin,’ Thorin explained in response to Bilbo’s questioning look, ‘has known my sister all of his life and still manages to say exactly the wrong thing at any given moment.’

Bilbo laughed along with the rest of the Company, Nori especially loud in his amusement. Then he asked another question.

‘I am truly sorry if I am being rude,’ he said hesitantly, ‘but do none of the rest of you have sisters? I am most unusual in this region for being an only child. Though you do all seem to be related as most hobbits are!’

‘We did,’ Dori answered, startling everyone at the table, ‘though Nori and Ori would not remember her. She was very young when Smaug came and she did not survive the journey west. There are not many dwarf women, Master Baggins. Despite our jokes, we would not risk them on such a journey. They are too precious to us.’

This received a number of nods from assorted members of the Company and Thorin noticed Nori touching his brother’s arm discreetly in comfort.

‘Oh, I am so sorry,’ Bilbo said. ‘I did not mean to upset anyone.’

‘There was no harm done,’ Dori told him, ‘and I did not have to answer you. I find it helpful, sometimes, to remind myself of why I agreed to come on this quest. That dragon has enjoyed the spoils of his evil quite long enough.’

A rising murmur of agreement followed this statement and Bilbo looked very thoughtful. Then the conversation turned to happier things and the food was eaten with all the enjoyment it deserved.

After dinner, the dwarves all began to help clear away dishes and Dori insisted that Bilbo was to remain seated while they did the washing up.

‘You have cooked a meal worthy of song, Master Baggins,’ he persevered, in the face of Bilbo’s cries that he couldn’t possibly allow guests to do such a thing. ‘We are all perfectly able to do dishes and it will take much less time with thirteen than it would with one.’

Bilbo capitulated and sat chatting quietly with Balin and Ori, who were excused from clean up so that Bilbo would not sit alone. As the table was cleared, plates clattered and cutlery clanged and Thorin noticed that a number of their gathering had begun to hum under their breath. This continued for a minute or two before Bofur burst into song. Thankfully, it was not a song about abusing Bilbo’s crockery but a dwarven working song meant to help miners keep up their pace during long days in the mines.

Bilbo seemed fascinated by the singing, listening intently and exclaiming afterwards that he had never heard the song before.

‘You wouldn't be likely to, Master Baggins,’ Fíli told him. ‘We can be a very secretive people and not many travellers would have entered the mines where these songs were born, so no one other than dwarves would ever have heard them. Music is very important to us.’

‘Our mother crafts instruments,’ Kíli added in. ‘She used to teach us all sorts of songs when we were little to keep us entertained while she was working.’

‘Do you have any others you wouldn’t mind singing in front of a stranger?’ Bilbo asked. ‘I have not heard many new songs in the last few years. Hobbits in this area are more likely to alter the words to a song than to invent a new one entirely.’

Fíli and Kíli looked consideringly at one another, having one of those family conversations which involves no words, only a number of slightly odd facial expressions. They seemed to come to a decision and gestured for the rest of the Company to come back in and sit down. Once they were all seated, Fíli began to hum low in his throat. After a few moments his brother began to sing.

_Far over the Misty Mountains cold_

_To dungeons deep and caverns old_

Thorin could barely contain his astonishment. He had expected the boys to pick another working song, or one of the old legends that Dís had sung to them as children. He certainly hadn’t expected them to choose this song. He had taught it to them as they grew older, when he began teaching them the history of their people and the glories of the kingdom they had once ruled, but he had never heard either of them sing it. History, in a strange way, was repeating itself by having these words sung in this house.

Many of the other dwarves had joined the boys in their song, Balin included, and at the close of the song the older dwarf looked closely at Bilbo.

‘That is another song not many have heard, Bilbo,’ he said solemnly. ‘It was written in the early years of our exile, as a promise that we would not forget what had happened and that one day we would return once more.’

Bilbo nodded slowly, then gathered his courage and asked the question that had been on his mind as they sang.

‘When you told me of your quest,’ he nodded to Balin and Thorin in turn, ‘you spoke of the danger of the dragon and the damage he had caused. The song certainly speaks of danger, but it focuses on recovering gold not a home. Why is that?’

‘The song was written for the approval of my grandfather,’ Thorin explained. ‘It was he who amassed the great wealth of Erebor, though we had never been a poor kingdom. His love of gold was as fierce as any dragon’s,’ some of the Company appeared shocked at this statement, but Thorin continued regardless, ‘and he dreamt long of reclaiming it. It was not to be, however. I will admit that when I taught my nephews that song I, too, dreamt of the gold we had lost. As the years have turned, I have hopefully grown wiser. Now I prefer to think of Erebor as a home rather than as a pile of treasure.’

‘We do love our treasure though,’ Bofur added. ‘We’re dwarves, we can’t help it. Gold and silver, diamonds and mithril – they come from the same stone we were created from. They’re in our blood.’

‘As long as they do not overcome all else, there is no harm in it,’ Balin finished. ‘The problem comes when they replace what should be most important.’

‘Which is why,’ Bofur announced with renewed happiness, ‘we should remember to sing of those as well.’ So saying, he commenced singing a song which Thorin had only ever heard snatches of, mostly because no one had ever before dared to sing it in his presence. From what he could tell, it was a bawdy tale about a distant ancestress of his family and her affair with the owner of a tavern. Trust Bofur to choose such a song to break the mood.

«««

An hour or so later, after much singing, Thorin went to Bilbo’s pantry to get another mug of ale. As he came back through the hall, Bilbo called to him from the parlour they had sat in a few days before. Entering, Thorin saw that Bilbo looked very serious indeed.

‘Is all well, Bilbo?’ he asked with concern. ‘We have not insulted you? Bofur means no offence with his song choices.’

‘No, no,’ Bilbo assured him. ‘You’ll hear as bad or worse in The Green Dragon when everyone’s well into their cups. At least once a year May Cotton threatens to stop serving unless the lads tone it down.’

Relieved, Thorin held in a chuckle at the image of the matronly hobbit scolding grown men like children being told they couldn’t have dessert unless they’d tidied their toys away. Dís and May Cotton would probably have got along very well.

‘No,’ Bilbo said again, once he recalled himself to his topic, ‘I wished to say that… well… I wish to join you, your Company that is, on your journey. If your dragon must be dealt with, and I think he must, I would like to help you do it.’

Much as Thorin wished to take Bilbo straight to Balin and have him sign the contract there and then, he forced himself to be patient. This was a big decision and hurrying Bilbo into it would not help them in the end.

‘You are sure, Bilbo?’ he queried. ‘The quest is no less dangerous now than it was when we first spoke. You were adamant then that you would not come.’

‘I know,’ Bilbo said, shrugging slightly. ‘I have always done exactly what was expected of me since my parents passed on. I have tended my garden so that Hamfast Gamgee can repair the damage I’ve done, read my books, pored over my maps and stayed safely by my fire. I do not think that will be enough anymore. Not now I have heard more about what is out there.’

Bilbo looked towards the sounds coming from his dining room and smiled at the din the Company were making.

‘They deserve a home,’ he said, gesturing to the gathered dwarves. ‘If they, if you, need help to reclaim it then I will do what I can. I may not be able to face your dragon in the end,’ he warned, ‘but I will help as much as I am able.’

‘I can ask no more than that,’ Thorin told him, touched beyond words though he had heard the same sentiment once before, from another Bilbo Baggins. ‘They will ask no more either. No one will force you to face Smaug when the time comes.’ Bilbo laughed wryly.

‘Trust me, Thorin,’ he said with amusement clear in his voice, ‘should my courage fail me at the end, not even an army of your people’s best warriors would get me through that door you mentioned.’

Thorin laughed too and went to call for Balin to bring the contract. This had been amended slightly from the original version, though Thorin had not been able to stop Balin from concocting all of the different ways one could be killed by a dragon and adding them in full. He had been extremely glad that Balin did not know about the various other dangers they were to face.

The new contract stipulated that each non-royal member of the Company was due an equal share of the treasure held in Erebor, minus that which was to be given to the men of Dale and the elves of Mirkwood as reparations for their previous treatment at Erebor’s hands. The Men were to receive a greater share, as they would have to rebuild their destroyed city once more. Thorin was personally determined to see that none of this money found its way into the Master’s clutches. Thorin himself would have a slightly greater share, along with Fili and Kili, as their money would also be used to help rebuild Erebor.

‘How much treasure is there inside Erebor?’ Bilbo asked worriedly as he looked over the contract.

‘More than enough to support anyone for a lifetime, Bilbo,’ Balin hurried to reassure him. ‘You will not be underpaid for your work.’

‘Goodness me, no,’ Bilbo replied. ‘I am not worried about that. It is just that I would have no idea what to do with it all. I can hardly haul a cartload of treasure back to the Shire with me!’

Balin was clearly amused by Bilbo’s concern but Thorin knew that it was a genuine one. Hobbits really did have little use for treasure.

‘Bilbo will be able to choose whichever pieces he likes best from the Company’s share,’ Thorin informed them both, ‘and take those with him as he will. If he truly wishes for his share to go elsewhere then we will see to arranging that for him.’

‘Thank you,’ Bilbo said gratefully. ‘That would be much more practical. Now, I had best go and pack.’

‘Ask Dwalin to help you,’ Thorin instructed Bilbo quickly as the hobbit backed out of the room. At Bilbo’s uncertain look, he added, ‘He will not bite and he has much experience with packing for long journeys.’ Receiving Bilbo’s nod, Thorin was satisfied that their burglar would be a little better prepared for travel this time at least.

Turning back to Balin, he noted a worried expression and tilted his head in query.

‘Thorin, you may have caused us a problem there,’ Balin told him. ‘What if Bilbo chooses all the best pieces? The others may not be happy to have those taken from them, nor Thranduil or whoever is ruling the Men these days.’

‘Do not worry, Balin,’ Thorin responded, relieved himself. ‘Look around Bilbo’s home. Look around the Shire in fact. These are not a people who are going to want the biggest or most impressive pieces from my grandfather’s collection. In all likelihood he will take a few of the prettier items, such as those that pleased my mother, and that will be all.’

Thorin’s mother had been slightly notorious for her (undwarfly, some had said) love of items crafted to resemble things from nature. Her favourite ring had been a simple affair shaped like a daisy, with a gold centre and band, and small diamonds forming each of the petals. His father had gifted it to her upon Thorin’s birth and she had worn it no matter the occasion or the level of grandeur it demanded.

‘Very well,’ Balin acceded, ‘if you are sure.’

‘I am,’ Thorin insisted. ‘Shall we go and join the others in their celebration?’ The racket from the dining room had only grown in volume, so Thorin was assuming that the dwarves had been told that Bilbo was to join their venture.

‘Lead the way,’ Balin said with a sweep of his hand and they left the room.

«««

It was not long after that the Company heard a knock on the door, which sounded as if someone was knocking with a wooden object rather than their fist. Bilbo rose swiftly, marching towards the door and mumbling, ‘If that _wizard_ has marked my paintwork…’

‘So, we probably shouldn’t tell him about the ‘burglar for hire’ mark that’s been scratched onto it then?’ Bofur asked.

‘Probably best not to,’ Balin replied. ‘Wouldn’t do to upset him just before we’re due to leave.’

As they finished the conversation Gandalf entered the room, ducking low to avoid the doorjamb. He gazed at the assembled party, clearly counting, and nodded once he had finished.

‘Ah,’ he said brightly, ‘so we are all here then. Including Thorin. Most excellent. Have you all managed to eat so quickly? I did not think I was that late.’

‘They have been here for some hours,’ Bilbo interjected with asperity. ‘I arranged for them all to come for an early dinner when Thorin and some of the others came to see me earlier in the week.’

‘Did you indeed,’ Gandalf said, ‘and did they? Thorin, might I have a word.’

Bilbo, however, having begun to vent a small amount of his ire, did not seem inclined to stop.

‘Master Oakenshield and the rest of the Company,’ he said firmly, ‘were polite enough to realise that I might not care for _fourteen_ uninvited, and mostly unexpected, guests! They had the goodness to explain this _adventure_ that you had promised them I would undertake without ever asking for my opinion on the matter. They were also kind enough to accept no for an answer. The fact that I have now decided to join them has a great deal to do with the courtesy that they have shown me. Were it not for the fact that you are a member of their Company, Master Gandalf, I might very well ask you to leave. You have been rather freer with both my food and my time than I generally appreciate in someone I have not seen in nearly forty years!’

Most of the Company sat in shocked silence at this lengthy rebuke of a figure they held in a certain amount of awe. Dwalin’s expression clearly told Thorin that Bilbo had just risen significantly in his estimation. Glóin was eyeing the way to the mud room where his axe remained with longing. Whether he wished to use it on Gandalf or to defend himself from Bilbo, Thorin couldn’t tell.

‘Well,’ Gandalf huffed sharply. ‘Well, indeed. You have been rather busy since I saw you last, Thorin Oakenshield.’

‘You expected a great deal of trust,’ Thorin could not resist pointing out, ‘for someone I had never met. I appreciated the key and the map greatly, but if you expected me to lead this Company I had to be sure of all who joined it. You could give me no real explanation of Bilbo’s skill, nor any real assurance that he was prepared to join us. It seemed only sensible to ascertain both for myself.’

‘Clearly,’ Gandalf huffed again. ‘Well, as you are obviously perfectly capable of organising your own quest, with no need for either my advice or my help, there is really little point in my being here. In fact, as Master Baggins is so reluctant to have me in his home, it would probably be best if I left.’

Saying this, he plunked the map and key down onto the table before Thorin with a scowl marring his face. He looked at each member of the Company in turn and scoffed slightly.

‘I wish you luck, Master Oakenshield,’ he announced. ‘A great deal of luck. No doubt you will need it. There will be no need to see me out, Master Baggins.’

With all the dignity that a tall man in a house built for average-sized hobbits could muster, Gandalf marched into the hallway, collected his hat and staff, and left Bag End.

Several minutes passed, with no sound heard in Bilbo’s dining room. Then Balin sighed and turned to face Thorin.

‘We appear to have outsmarted ourselves, laddie.’

Thorin uttered several of the vilest swearwords he could muster, causing Dori to reach forward and cover Ori’s ears.

‘Aye,’ Dwalin agreed. ‘That about sums it up.’

««««««

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been trying to post a chapter a day up until this point, as I have been keeping one chapter ahead of myself at all times. Unfortunately as of Monday I am starting some training which I will need to devote most of the day to, so the updates will probably slow down. I will try to keep writing every evening and at the weekends, because this story really is a lot of fun for me to write. However, if updates slow down please bear with me. Your comments and kudos will keep me writing and there will be a new chapter in time.


	4. Something Is Not Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The quest begins with more challenges than Thorin was anticipating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the change in warnings above. I do not think the descriptions are very graphic but I'd rather be safe than sorry.
> 
> Thank you, as always, for all your comments and kudos. I said at the beginning that I would be mixing book and film canon in this story, along with making a great deal up myself. That goes even more for the chapters to come so please bear this in mind. However, if there's anything that does not ring true, or even anything you particularly like, please let me know. This was the hardest chapter for me to write - I hope the end result will be enjoyable!
> 
> ETA: I keep forgetting to do this - much thanks goes to Travel Routes and times in Middle Earth by Horseback by Sulriel (http://www.theoriginalseries.com/traveltimes.htm) for giving me some indication of how long the Company should be travelling for.

 

 

Chapter Four: Something Is Not Right

The next morning the Company gathered their belongings swiftly and began their journey early. Thorin was relieved to see that Bilbo was more appropriately dressed for travel, with slightly plainer clothes than last time. He noticed, however, that as the morning went by Dori was giving their burglar increasingly unhappy looks. Slowing his pony until he had drawn even with Dori, Thorin quietly asked if all was well.

‘Fine, Master Thorin, fine… except…’ Dori responded.

‘Go on, Dori. If there is to be a problem I will need to know about it,’ Thorin told him.

‘Well, it is only that Master Baggins’ clothes are not made for such a journey,’ Dori answered finally, sounding reluctant.

‘They seemed so to me, Dori,’ Thorin said, then realised how that might be taken and quickly added, ‘but I do not have a tailor’s eyes.’

‘They probably looked fine to Master Dwalin, as well,’ Dori commented sourly. ‘Whichever tailor sold them to Master Baggins should be ashamed of themselves. The materials are poor and the stitching is not good at all!’

‘You do not think they will last Bilbo the journey, then?’

‘No,’ Dori shook his head sadly, ‘I do not. I will be surprised if they last him a hundred miles.’

‘Then we will have to stop at a village on the way and find better,’ Thorin said firmly. ‘I cannot have one of my Company arriving at Rivendell with his clothes falling to pieces about him.’

‘We could,’ Dori said hesitantly, ‘but… I did bring some of Ori’s older things with me, when I heard we’d have a hobbit coming along. He grew out of them in a month or two when he was growing so quickly I could barely keep up. I could adjust them for Master Baggins easily enough.’

‘Then I would be grateful if you would mention it to him, Dori,’ Thorin told him. ‘I’m sure you will be able to explain the problem to him far better than I.’

‘Of course,’ Dori assured him, moving his own pony so that he could speak to Bilbo.

That was an interesting change, Thorin thought, if a minor one. Had Dori brought these clothes with him last time? If so, had he failed to mention them because Bilbo’s other clothes were better made, or because he had not felt that it was proper to ask?

It was such minutiae that Thorin had found himself concentrating on over the course of the morning, to distract himself from the rather larger problem that lay in front of him. There was only so much procrastinating that could be done, however. He had to admit to himself that the situations with the trolls and with Azog were approaching rapidly, and they had no Gandalf to rescue them. In fact they would likely not have Gandalf to rescue them at any point during their quest.

In truth, Thorin simply had no idea what to do and no way of getting any advice. He could hardly walk up to Balin and Dwalin, or any of the Company, and begin a conversation with, “So… if we were to suddenly come across three pony-stealing trolls with a taste for dwarf, how would you go about dealing with them?” Even Thorin was clever enough to realise that his friends would find that extremely odd behaviour.

The question preyed on his mind for the best part of several days as the Company continued to journey towards Rivendell. That much, at least, they had decided to do as planned. How they would make the trip from there was still to be debated. Thorin planned to rest a few days at Rivendell and then move forward across the mountains, preferably without encountering any stone giants. Without Gandalf there would be no eagles to fly them to the Carrock so from that point he was at a bit of a loss.

The doom-filled part of his mind tried valiantly to point out that it would not matter after that point, as they would likely have been killed by either goblins or orcs, but Thorin refused to listen. His own promises to himself aside, Fíli had made his own feelings on the matter entirely clear.

‘Uncle,’ he had said bluntly, approaching Thorin later on in the evening after Gandalf had left Bag End. ‘To lose Gandalf has been a blow, I know, but it would not do to dwell on it. There will be a way around the problem.’

Thorin had felt like smiling for the first time since Gandalf’s exit, and had let it cross his face to reassure his nephew. ‘I will not brood on it, Fíli, I promise you. Though I will have to think on it a little. There will be places which will be much more difficult to cross without someone of Gandalf’s experience along to guide us.’

‘Very well,’ Fíli had responded, seeming suddenly uncomfortable in his self-appointed role, ‘I will leave you to do so.’

They had not discussed it since, but Thorin was not unaware of the frequent glances from both his nephews and he made sure to continue to interact with the Company as often as before.

All told, this was not a difficult task – they were a rambunctious lot, few of them in any way shy, and there always seemed to be some kind of discussion going on.

«««

Dwalin had been particularly loud when he had discovered that Bilbo had no martial training at all. Considering the comments he had made about hobbits when they had first arrived in the Shire, Thorin could not understand his shock. Balin’s description alone should have suggested that hobbits were not natural warriors.

Nori (who had seemed to take up surprising the others when they were not expecting him as a hobby now that there was someone who might rival his skills in the Company) had shared Thorin’s opinion. In fact, he had been careful to share it loudly, right by Dwalin’s elbow, when it was clear Dwalin had no idea he was there. If the two continued to antagonise each other so plainly Thorin really would have to do something about it.

‘Well of course he’s never used a weapon,’ Nori informed Dwalin in a tone that asked if Dwalin were entirely stupid. ‘For a start, unless there was a weaponsmith in that village of his, where would he have found one to fit him? Any human or dwarven weapon would be far too big for him.’

‘I’ll have you know,’ Bilbo interjected at this point, ‘that I am of a perfectly normal size for a hobbit. It is the rest of you who are much too big!’

‘Well, we can’t leave you unarmed,’ a new voice interjected. Fíli had apparently decided to join the conversation. ‘With all due respect, Master Baggins, you aren’t going to kill a dragon by guesswork. You need to at least have some idea what you’re doing.’

‘Won’t I just… you know…’ Bilbo mimed holding a blade and shoving it forward. Nori and Dwalin shared a rare moment of accord and very pained glances.

‘No, Master Baggins,’ Nori informed him, ‘you won’t just…. Not if we can help it.’

‘Here,’ Fíli said firmly, producing one of his many blades from underneath his coat. ‘At least this will be a better size for him than anything else we’ve got.’

‘ _He_ is standing right in front of you,’ Bilbo scolded, and received an apologetic look from Fíli.

‘Apologies, Master Baggins, but I believe this will be a better starting point for you than anything else we might find.’

Bilbo nodded, and then said in a louder tone ‘Would all of you please call me Bilbo? Master Baggins seems so formal for a group of people whose snores I am so familiar with.’

There were general calls of agreement to this request from across the camp and by the time the last of these were done Dwalin had apparently come to a decision.

‘You and Nori had best train him then,’ Dwalin announced to Fíli. ‘Knives aren’t exactly my specialty.’

Nori and Fíli looked slightly startled but their expressions soon became determined as they eyed up their new student. Bilbo, on the other hand, looked terrified and extremely unenthusiastic.

‘What if I don’t want to learn?’ he asked the three of them fretfully.

‘Then I am afraid you have to do it anyway,’ Fíli told him. A few months ago, Thorin thought to himself, Fíli would have sat back and left all of this to Dwalin to deal with. His nephews were surprising him every day. It was nice to have a few pleasant surprises on this quest. ‘We may be thirteen, but if battle comes and you do not have a weapon it will be very hard to keep you constantly in sight. Better that we have some assurance you can look after yourself.’

Bilbo seemed to consider arguing, but Fili had picked the one argument he could not dismiss. The inference had been clear – what if someone else gets hurt protecting you? It was an unfair move, but Thorin did not intervene. It would, indeed, be important that Bilbo could fight. ‘Very well,’ Bilbo sighed. ‘When will we begin?’

‘Oh, I think now is as good a time as any’, Nori informed him cheerfully. ‘Come along.’

Bilbo groaned, hauling himself off the ground, which had felt so comfortable after hours on a pony, and followed Nori to a place further from the campfire.

As they travelled, Bilbo’s lessons continued whenever they had a moment. Nori turned out to be a less talented instructor than Fíli, only because he had been using his knives so long that he often took things for granted which really needed to be taught. Fíli took on the main role of instructing, with Nori providing an opponent for Bilbo who wouldn’t overwhelm him by sheer size. Slowly but surely Bilbo improved. He was not a skilled warrior - for all Thorin knew he might never be - but he no longer froze when attacked or got tangled with his own weapon.

«««

More time passed in travel, and soon the Company were miserably soaked to the skin as the rain fell and fell and refused to let up. Many grumbling comments were made about Gandalf disappearing off and how useful it would have been to have a wizard around to make the rain stop and dry out the kindling for the fire in the evening. Thorin refrained from telling his companions that Gandalf could not have stopped the rain any more than they could and tried not to take the comments too personally.

Unfortunately, no one had realised that a certain burglar had been taking them very personally indeed until he finally snapped.

‘I am very sorry,’ he said suddenly one evening, as another round of “Why isn’t Gandalf here? This would be so much easier if he were here” began anew. ‘I am _extremely_ sorry,’ Bilbo continued, ‘that I decided to scold the wizard for his bad behaviour and he took exception and went off to sulk. However, I cannot see that constantly talking about it is going to change anything.’

‘Oh no, lad,’ Bofur hurried to assure him, reaching over to clap him on the shoulder, ‘no one’s blaming you. No one’s blaming anyone except the wizard. You’d think a wizard would know better. We’re just grumbling, that’s all. It makes us feel better to share our misery. Dwarves don’t suffer in silence very well.’

A number of the others hastened to add their agreement and Bilbo subsided.

‘Oh, well, that is alright then,’ he said with some embarrassment. ‘Though I _am_ sorry for talking so abruptly to him. Had I realised he would take it so personally I would not have done it.’

‘Something which I can also say, Bilbo,’ Thorin added from his seat across the other side of the fire. ‘Hindsight is a wonderful thing, but you are right that it does not help us now.’

‘It’s not as if any of us ever had a wizard with us when we travelled before,’ Dwalin threw in. ‘It’s not the first time we’ve been wet and I doubt it will be the last either.’

This seemed to settle the topic in the minds of the Company, none of whom wanted to grumble again in case they were considered less hardy than the others.

As it was, the rain finally stopped the next day and the Company began, at last, to dry out, which improved their moods considerably. All except Thorin, who was getting closer and closer to the trolls and further and further from anything resembling a good plan.

The problem, he had realised, was that the Company he had gathered together this time round were used to having a leader who explained his decisions and listened to their views. The autocratic Thorin of before could have ordered “no, we aren’t going that way, we will go this way instead” and would likely have gotten away with nothing worse than Dwalin muttering about being dragged hither and thither by Thorin’s terrible sense of direction. Now, however, if he tried to do such a thing a number of companions would gently and not-so-gently inform him that “actually this way was quicker, and easier going, and it really would be best not to go that way, Thorin”. He could not argue with them without undoing a great deal of work.

He also could not just let the ponies be captured and eaten and refuse to go and rescue them. It might be the most practical option, but Bilbo wasn’t the only one growing fond of the animals. Thorin could not let Minty be eaten, he just couldn’t. Round and round and round he went in his mind and could come up with nothing. This realisation must have had him scowling darkly, for suddenly his self-appointed keeper was at his side once more.

‘Uncle,’ Fíli said firmly. ‘You are doing it again. Unless the fire has done something particularly terrible to you that I don’t know about.’

Thorin huffed in exasperation, mostly at himself although he could see this getting very annoying at some point. A point when he wasn’t quite so glad to have both his nephews alive and healthy.

‘It is nothing, Fíli,’ he tried to reassure, searching for an explanation, ‘only that something here just… doesn’t feel right.’

Dwalin snorted from nearby. ‘Listen to you,’ he said to Thorin mockingly, ‘sounding like an old dwarf whose leg aches when rain is on the way.’

‘You _are_ an old dwarf whose leg aches when rain is on its way,’ Glóin pointed out, ‘and I’ll thank you to make no more mention of rain! We’ve had quite enough of that for one journey.’ He eyed the sky nervously as if they might be heard and rained upon at any moment.

‘Thorin’s right,’ Nori’s voice came suddenly from next to Thorin. He nearly received a sword at his throat for his troubles.

‘Nori, please stop doing that,’ Thorin said as politely as he was able through gritted teeth. ‘To be frightened to death on the road to Erebor would be an ignominious way to die.’

‘Sorry,’ Nori said blithely, not sounding sorry at all. ‘This place doesn’t feel right. It’s too quiet.’

‘Too quiet,’ Dwalin scoffed, hackles firmly raised now that Nori was agreeing with Thorin. ‘Of course it’s bloody quiet, we’re the only people for miles.’

Nori took this about as well as Thorin was expecting. Raising himself to his full height, which admittedly was not particularly impressive, he glared fiercely at Dwalin.

‘ _All_ I have heard at night on this quest,’ Nori emphasised, ‘apart from your blasted snoring, is sweet, little birds chirping on and on and on while I am trying to sleep! Tell me, _Master Dwalin_ , can _you_ hear any birds right now?’

‘He’d be lucky to hear anything over the racket the lot of you are making,’ Balin said scoldingly. ‘All of you be quiet a moment.’

The Company obeyed and all listened carefully, especially Thorin who had not at all expected to be taken seriously. Once they did listen, the lack of noise became quite apparent.

‘That isn’t good,’ Bilbo told them decisively. Normally Bilbo seemed hesitant to interfere unless the conversation directly involved him, but in this he would have far more experience than a group of mountain-dwelling dwarves. ‘The first thing any faunt is taught before they go outside the village is that silence means there’s something about the animals are scared of. Normally that means a big predator.’

‘Well, that doesn’t seem so bad,’ Ori ventured. ‘Wolves and such won’t think to go after people, will they?’

‘It depends how hungry they are, Ori,’ Bilbo said bleakly. Thorin had a feeling there was a story there he hadn’t heard before.

‘Best case scenario it’s a wolf or a bear we can avoid,’ Nori said worriedly. ‘Worst case scenario, some of those orcs Thorin mentioned before are around here and everything else has found a pressing reason to be elsewhere.’

‘Either way, we need to go East along the road to get to Rivendell,’ Gloin opined. ‘If there is something foul near here then we will have no choice but to deal with.’

Thorin waited to see if anyone would object but the rest of the Company seemed to agree. The road it would be then, he thought, and hopefully they would at least be a little more careful than they were before.

«««

It seemed no time at all, the next day, before they found the tumbled down house that Thorin remembered from their last trip. Rather than simply rejoicing in finding some shelter, this time the dwarves eyed the structure more warily. Bifur and Bofur went over to it and inspected the stonework, exchanging comment in Iglishmêk.

‘Aye,’ Bofur said loudly after a moment, ‘you’re right.’

Turning to Thorin and the rest of the Company he gestured them over. Fitting them all inside the small structure was a challenge but eventually they managed it.

‘This stonework didn’t crumble and fall down,’ Bofur told them knowledgeably. ‘It’s not new but it’s not old enough by any means, although the weather’s had a go at it since. It’s held too well at the bottom to have fallen apart from age.’

‘How else could it have fallen apart?’ Dori asked curiously. ‘Houses don’t just fall down.’

‘Nor do people abandon them to fall apart easily,’ Thorin quickly commented. ‘What makes someone abandon their home?’

Several of the dwarves exchanged glances at this point, expressions growing more and more concerned.

‘Something chased them off,’ Nori said worriedly.

‘Or they didn’t leave at all,’ came Kili’s contribution. Turning, they saw that he was holding up a small, metal knife, the kind that was used for eating meat off. ‘Does this strike you as the kind of thing that gets left behind if a family leave? Considering most people keep it strapped to their belts?’

‘This isn’t good,’ Dori murmured, looking around to find Ori and pulling him closer. ‘This isn’t good at all.’

‘Whatever it is might be long gone by now,’ said Óin, ear trumpet firmly in place. ‘This would provide some shelter for a camp, and it will be easier to get the fire going if we have something to block the wind.’

‘We stay here,’ Thorin told them, praying he would not regret the decision. ‘Start the fire outside though. The ponies stay in here and we’ll rope them in. If there is something about, I don’t want to find out about it when they start going missing.’

There was some griping about not using the shelter to keep the wind off themselves, but it was a mark of how nervous the Company was that no one really objected. They ate dinner with very little conversation and more than one dwarf was keeping a firm eye on the woods surrounding them.

They turned in early, with Balin choosing to take the first watch along with Kíli “just in case”. Kíli seemed thankful for the reassurance of having their sharpest lookout joining him.

Anxious as he was, Thorin fell into a fitful sleep and woke frequently to the sounds of other members of the Company tossing and turning. Still, by the time much of the night had passed Thorin began to hope that they might make it past the trolls unharmed. He would miss having Orcrist in his hand but better to miss it than to die trying to get it.

That, of course, was when fate must have decided to intervene. Tom, Bert and William had eaten a mediocre supper of mutton in the woods, drunk themselves rather silly on the ale they had left to them and promptly fallen into an ale-sodden sleep. Unfortunately, Tom had then woken feeling slightly refreshed and more than slightly hungry. Muttering and moaning to himself about the evils of mutton and how sick it could make a fellow feel, he blundered upright and ambled away from their fire with a blurry hope of finding something else to eat. He might have gone in completely the wrong direction – had he not suddenly smelt both pony and dwarf.

Grinning to himself and mumbling happily about getting his share of the food before the other two lazy oafs woke up, Tom stumbled out of the woods and straight into the Company’s camp. Fíli, who was on watch, shouted in alarm and the half-asleep Company were soon on their feet, weapons in hand. Luckily, thirteen dwarves versus one troll makes for slightly better odds.

‘Take him down,’ Thorin called to the others as they all prepared for battle. ‘We need him on the ground!’

Kili, showing great presence of mind, darted around the side of the house to the firmer parts of the structure and began to climb up in the hopes of getting a better shot. Dwalin and Balin got into position behind Tom and hewed at his legs to try and hamstring him. Troll-hide was tough, though, and many of their blows did not even break the skin. The rest of the Company ran from one place to the next landing what blows they could whilst keeping Tom as confused as possible. Bilbo did not even try to strike him. Diving inside the house, he worked to calm the ponies before they could try to bolt and leave the company without their mounts.

It was Ori, however, who struck the most important blow. While the rest of the Company had kept Tom thoroughly distracted, Ori had snuck closer and closer, holding his war hammer near. As soon as he was within range he raised it, then brought it down with all of his might – straight onto Tom’s left foot. Tom howled with dismay and pain, raising his foot off the floor and hopping around. Bombur, seeing their chance, grabbed hold of any part of the troll he could reach and heaved backwards. Dori and Dwalin joined him quickly and soon Tom over-balanced and fell to the floor. Bifur darted forward and thrust his boar-spear straight through Tom’s eye before the troll truly knew what had hit him.

Unfortunately the Company had little time to rejoice in their victory. Even as Dori and Nori hurried to check over their brother, and the rest of the Company congratulated themselves on their success, William and Bert appeared, drawn by the howls of their former friend. They did not seem particularly concerned about his death. In fact they barely spared him a glance. Their eyes were too busy lighting up with greed at the feast before them.

Neither of them were particularly sober, so their first two or three grabs missed the dwarves entirely. William, as the leader and slightly cleverer than his fellows, soon spotted what Bert and Tom had missed. The small creature still trying to calm the shying, whinnying ponies. Flinging Fíli and Óin to the side he charged forward even as Kili frantically fired arrows at his more sensitive areas. Shrugging these off, William thrust one great hand into the derelict house and came out holding Bilbo.

‘Stop,’ he shouted, ‘or I’ll squeeze him to death!’

The tight grip he had was evident. Poor Bilbo was frantically gasping for breath and beginning to turn slightly purple. Cursing his luck viciously, Thorin dropped his sword on the floor and saw the rest of the Company do the same. Shortly they had all been tied up by Bert, William keeping a firm grip on Bilbo all the while just in case the Company got any ideas.

Trussed up in a sack and watching the trolls poke and prod at his people, trying to decide how to cook them and which it would be best to eat first, Thorin felt more than a little disbelief. How had they managed to end up exactly as they had before? Eyeing the lightening sky towards the East, Thorin wondered if Bilbo would think to distract the trolls as he had before. If they could just keep the two distracted enough that they would not notice there might still be a chance.

That was when luck finally seemed to go his way.

‘Oh no, there’ll not be any trouble here, we’re the only ones around for miles,’ he heard Dwalin say. Except that Dwalin was too far away for Thorin to have heard him so clearly, right at the other end of their line of sacks.

By a rather awkward and ungainly series of movements Thorin managed to turn himself far enough around to see the culprit – Nori, muttering irritably to himself and scowling at what little of Dwalin he could see.

‘Nori,’ Thorin hissed to him. Nori either did not hear or took no notice, far too interested in his own creative insults about guardsman who were so far up their own arses they could barely see daylight.

‘Nori!’ Thorin said loudly, quickly checking to see that the trolls had not heard. They had not. They were still debating cooking methods with drunken gravity.

‘What?’ Nori hissed back.

‘Can you do that with the trolls?’ Thorin asked him urgently.

‘How is insulting the trolls supposed to help?’ Nori asked with alarm. ‘I’m not letting them eat me first so that the rest of you can get away!’

‘Not the insults, you fool,’ Thorin retorted in exasperation. ‘The trick with Dwalin’s voice. Can you do it with the trolls?’

Nori’s eyes widened as he seemed to catch on. In fact, though Thorin could not know, this was a trick he had used once or twice to get out of sticky situations. Imitating the guardsmen had allowed him to send them on a merry chase through the streets of Ered Luin until he could escape. No one ever suspected that the voices of their colleagues were leading them astray.

‘It won’t sound right,’ he told Thorin. ‘My voice won’t be loud enough or deep enough.’

Thorin jerked his head towards the East so that Nori would turn and look. ‘All we need is a little time,’ he said and Nori nodded his agreement. He closed his eyes in concentration for a moment, then opened his mouth and spoke.

‘I say we roast ‘em!’ Bert’s voice rang out.

‘Bleedin’ hell, Bert,’ William moaned. ‘Don’t start this up again. We said we’d mince ‘em and boil ‘em and that’s what we’ll do.’

‘I din’t say nothin’,’ Bert told him indignantly. ‘What are you goin’ on about?’

‘I ‘eard you!’ said William, who was closest to where Nori lay. ‘You started goin’ on about roastin’ the food again.’

‘I did not,’ Bert muttered. ‘’s not my fault yer hearin’s goin’.’

‘Nothin’ wrong with my hearin’’ William told him.

‘No,’ Bert called out from amongst the dwarves, ‘just with your face!’ It was not the most inspired insult, but then trolls were not the most intelligent of beings.

‘What did you say?’ William shouted, standing up sharply.

‘I din’t say nothin’, I keep tellin’ you!’ Bert shouted back, thoroughly fed up with William delaying the start of their meal.

‘Well, _I_ say yer a lazy lout,’ William retorted, ‘an’ if you want the food cooked so badly you can do it yerself!’

‘I’ve ‘ad enough of this from you,’ Bert snarled. He had already had one fight with William so far that night and he wasn’t going to sit quietly this time either.

Getting up with every intention of planting his fist in William’s face, Bert tripped over Tom’s inconveniently placed body and nearly squashed poor Bilbo, who had been placed off to one side of the fire. Bert himself wasn’t so lucky. He had landed straight in the middle of their newly constructed fire and was frantically trying to put himself out.

He was so incensed by the way William stood there laughing at him that he got up and promptly threw himself at the other troll. William tumbled backwards and poor Bifur, Bombur and Bofur ended up squashed underneath them. Never one to lie back and take such a misfortune, Bifur raised his head up and bit a conveniently placed hand.

This time it was William who howled with indignant pain. He shoved Bert off him and turned to bring his other fist down on top of the three dwarves – only to turn to stone as the first rays of sunlight struck him. Bert had just enough time and wit to realise his danger and begin scrambling for the trees when he, too, was turned into a particularly ugly statue.

As the other dwarves gazed upon the pair, hardly able to believe their luck, Bifur rolled to the side and began to spit repeatedly onto the floor, frantically trying to get the taste of troll out of his mouth.

«««

It was Bilbo who managed to get them all free. The trolls had not tied his bonds nearly tight enough in their haste and he had been working on coming up with a plan when Nori had begun to confuse their captors. Taking the knife that Fíli had given him, he quickly began cutting Fíli and Kíli’s ropes so that they could help him free the others.

Before they were even free, the dwarves were calling out congratulations to various other members of the party and recounting the battle and their lucky escape to one another. Bilbo approached Thorin, looking rather confused.

‘Why didn’t they just find a place to hide from the sun and take us there?’ he queried.

‘I imagine they already have a place to stay during the day, Bilbo,’ Thorin told him. ‘We will look for it once everyone is up and moving again. As for their decision to stay here, trolls really aren’t very bright.’

‘This lot,’ Balin said acerbically, kicking at one of the troll statues, ‘were also, by the smell of them, really very drunk. It’s a wonder they managed to stand.’

‘Which says very little for us, doesn’t it?’ Bofur added. ‘If we were going to be nearly killed, it could at least have been by something a bit smarter.’

‘Bite your tongue,’ Óin scolded him fiercely. ‘You never know who might be listening.’ He murmured a quick Khuzdul prayer to Mahal for protection as he stomped away, Bofur pulling a face at his retreating back.

‘Right,’ Thorin called, wanting to get on the move quickly. ‘Let’s go and find their hoard. If you can carry it you may take it, if not you leave it behind. We stop there for fifteen minutes, no more.’

‘Why all the haste?’ Nori called, ‘We know exactly where the trolls are, it’s not as if we have to worry about them coming back.’

‘We didn’t worry about them at all until one of them nearly stomped on me,’ Fíli told him. ‘Who knows what else is out here?’

‘Keep the ponies close,’ Thorin informed them all. ‘We fought hard this evening and slept little. I’d rather not walk all the way to Rivendell.’

The rest of the Company, who were not particularly fond of walking at all except for Bilbo, immediately took a firmer grip on the bridles of their mounts.

The troll hoard was easily found, as it was one of the few places Thorin could remember the location of and he subtly led them straight to it. Despite a few complaints from Glóin and Nori when they realised that they would not be able to carry most of what was in the cave away, the dwarves were swift in their exploration. With everyone distracted, Thorin was able to head straight for Orcrist and Glamdring, before bending to retrieve Bilbo’s Sting from the floor.

Dwalin gave him a strange look when he reappeared. ‘Taking up fighting with two swords are we?’ he questioned. ‘What happened to “we only take what we can carry”?’

‘Do I seem unable to carry these?’ Thorin queried mildly. ‘Besides, I thought you might approve of my plan not to let the “penny-pincher” and the “damned thief” make the long-term deposit they were considering.’

‘Oh alright, there’s no need to start that,’ Dwalin mumbled. ‘If you want two pretty, elvish swords that badly you may have them.’

‘Depending on how old they are, they might be useful bargaining tools when we get to Rivendell,’ Thorin told him, shamelessly pretending that he had any intention of letting Orcrist go.

‘Fíli,’ he called to his nephew. When Fíli looked up he threw Sting to him. ‘For your pupil, perhaps. I know most of your blades came in matched sets.’

Fíli gave him a wide smile. In truth some of his blades had come down to him from Víli when he died. The rest had been fashioned by Thorin, Fíli and Kíli more recently, and Fíli was rather attached to all of them. This way he could have his own dagger back and Bilbo would have a lighter blade of his own to use. A swap was quickly made.

‘Everyone mount up,’ Thorin said, looking at the sky. The morning was moving along and, as Thorin had no idea what day it was, he did not know if wizards and orcs might be about to descend on them. As soon as everyone was on their ponies again, Thorin turned Minty back towards the Great East Road. He set a slightly faster pace than before and was not surprised to have Balin join him.

‘Thorin, why do I get the feeling we are running from something that none of the rest of us know about?’

Before Thorin could answer, they both heard wargs howling in the distance.

««««««


	5. A Time To Act

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is not only the dwarves who must rethink the way they see the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all comments and kudos. I got very excited when I saw I had over 50 comments... until I realised half of those were me responding to other people *facepalm* I am still excited about every single comment and kudos alert though!

 

 

Chapter Five: A Time To Act

Thorin heard Bilbo asking if he had just heard a wolf and Bofur’s panicked explanation that it was not a wolf at all. Balin abandoned his questioning without hesitation and turned to those riding behind.

‘Ride,’ he shouted, louder than Thorin realised he could. ‘Ride as the fast as the ponies will go and keep together.’

‘What is going on?’ Kíli called worriedly even as he spurred his mount forward.

‘We have wargs behind us,’ Thorin told him. ‘If the ponies can’t run fast enough we won’t make it far.’

‘Wargs mean orcs too,’ Kíli said, clearly thinking quickly. ‘I’ll get Bilbo, Myrtle will go faster on her own and I can make sure he stays on.’

‘Do it,’ Thorin told him and Kíli wove rapidly between the other ponies to get to Bilbo. Even as he lifted Bilbo off with a ‘Sorry, Bilbo!’ Thorin saw Bofur catching Myrtle’s reins, while Bombur began to transfer some of the less necessary provisions from his own mount to her. Dwalin had drawn his axes and was falling to the back to guard their retreat.

‘Balin, Nori, Ori, Fíli,’ he called to the sharper eyed members of the party who were not already occupied. ‘There is a passage to Rivendell near here, Gandalf spoke of it. Keep a lookout.’

‘That would be easier,’ Nori called breathlessly, ‘if we had an idea what we were looking for.’

‘I know only that it is by one of these rocks,’ Thorin told him, wishing fervently that he had not forgotten so much of their journey last time.

‘Ah, wonderful,’ Nori muttered, ‘a passage by a rock, that will be helpful.’

The growling and howling had grown closer and closer and now Thorin could hear the orcs calling to each other in their foul tongue.

‘Be ready,’ he commanded. ‘They will be upon us soon.’

He spared a moment to wish that the strange wizard, Radagast, had found them this time. They could do with a distraction right now, though they were not likely to get one. Thorin could not see that there was much hope even with the ponies. They could only gallop at this speed for so long.

‘They’re here,’ Dwalin roared, turning to keep his eye on their pursuers. Ahead of him Kíli shouted to Ori, pushing a little more speed from his pony to catch the other dwarf.

‘Ori, take Bilbo!’ The scribe reached out and grabbed their burglar, who showed great restraint in not asking why he was being passed around like a sack of potatoes.

Thorin looked back to see Kíli stringing his bow and firing. Though his shot hit, it was not as true as it would normally be. They were none of them used to fighting when mounted and the difference was throwing his nephew’s aim off.

‘Save your arrows, Kíli,’ Thorin ordered, just as his nephew was about to try again.

‘Thorin, what are you planning?’ Dwalin demanded, landing a swift axe blow to the warg which tried to pull him to the floor.

‘We’ll have to pull up,’ Thorin shouted back. ‘We’ll never stay ahead of them. If we get our backs to one of the rocks, Kíli can try to pick them off. Then all we can do is fight the ones that make it through.’

As he spoke Thorin guided Minty in between two large rocks and pulled up. The others did the same in a rather disorderly fashion and Thorin held up a hand for silence. He had seen the two warg scouts fall and, though he had heard the orcs behind them, none of them had appeared from the trees before the dwarves halted.

‘Quietly,’ he whispered to the Company, gesturing for them to dismount. They did so carefully and when one of the ponies snorted in fear Glóin hurried to try and quiet her.

‘We will not fool them,’ Balin told Thorin. ‘The wargs will sniff us out easily enough. Even if they did not, they know we are here. A simple search would find us.’

‘Take the packs off the ponies,’ Thorin advised the Company. ‘All of you, do it quickly.’

‘You mean to set them loose?’ Dori asked, careful to keep his voice low. ‘Thorin, we will need them!’

‘Dori, we cannot keep them,’ Thorin told him sadly. ‘They will do better without us anyway. It isn’t the ponies those orcs will be after.’

‘They’re coming,’ Bilbo hissed suddenly. Thorin had not even seen him creep to the edge of the rock to peer around.

‘Where?’ he asked urgently.

‘They’re coming from the trees but they’re fanning out,’ Bilbo said. ‘There’ll be at least two of them close enough to find us in a few minutes.’

‘If we let the ponies loose now they won’t need to find us,’ Balin whispered.

Thorin cursed under his breath. Of course, the orcs would be very suspicious if a group of ponies suddenly ran out from between two rocks. They’d soon be over to investigate.

‘Could we…’ Fíli hesitated, stroking the nose of the pony he was holding. ‘Would they chase the ponies, do you think, if we let them go?’

Ori made a small noise of horror but did not object in words. Thorin knew he could see the chance it might give them, as surely as he knew that their gentle scribe would hate to take it. Ori and Fíli were not the only members of the Company to tighten their grips on the reins they held.

‘I don’t think it would work, lad,’ Dwalin told Fíli, weary and relieved all at once. ‘Riderless horses would only confuse them from a distance.’

‘We’ll have to let them go when we start fighting,’ Balin said. ‘They’ll run as soon as we release them anyway. The smells are terrifying them.’

‘We’re out of time,’ Bilbo announced, just loud enough to be heard.

‘Let them…’

Thorin did not get time to finish his sentence. Even as he spoke another noise was heard – the distinctive note of an elvish horn sounding in the distance. A few moments later it sounded again, rapidly growing closer.

‘Bilbo,’ Thorin called, gesturing for the hobbit to look. Bilbo crept carefully around the boulder until he was out of sight. For two nerve-wracking minutes he was gone and all the dwarves could hear were the sounds of battle out of view.

Then Bilbo reappeared, with such a wide smile that the dwarves issued massive sighs of relief.

‘The orcs turned to fight the elves,’ Bilbo reported. ‘They are not doing well and at least one warg and its rider fled back into the trees.’

‘We wait,’ Thorin commanded. ‘Everybody stay still and quiet.’

‘Uncle, we could help!’ Fíli urged.

‘We cannot risk it yet,’ Thorin told him, though part of him was shouting the same thing. They had come too close to disaster this day, they had to be careful.

The dwarves waited for some minutes, listening to the yelps of injured wargs and the clash of metal. Slowly the battle noises subsided. Tense moments passed and Thorin wondered if he should send Bilbo out to look again. Then suddenly a figure appeared atop the boulder they were hiding behind. So tense had they been that Kíli nearly shot him before they realised it was an elf.

The elf looked down at them, then turned and called to those behind him in his own language. Finally, he jumped down to stand before them.

‘We had thought at first the orcs ran from us,’ the elf said in the mellifluous tone common to his people. ‘That they were chasing something makes more sense.’

‘A pity though,’ a virtually identical voice called from above. ‘It would be an honour indeed if our very presence struck fear into orcish hearts.’

The second elf, identical to the first in all but clothing, jumped to the ground as well. Landing lightly before the dwarves, he and his twin (for they had to be twins, there could be no other explanation) bowed low.

‘Mae l'ovannen!’ they said in unison. Thorin had a flash of how people must feel when they met Fíli and Kíli for the first time. It was really quite eerie.

‘I am Elladan,’ the first elf told them, ‘and this is my brother Elrohir. We are the sons of Elrond.’

Thorin stepped forward now, allowing the panic to fade at last and smiling at their rescuers. He would not offend every elf he came across this time. He had given his word to his creator and he would keep it. Besides, these two at least seemed to have a sense of humour.

‘Hannon le,’ he told them, using the little elvish he knew. ‘We are grateful for your aid. We were attempting to reach your father’s house when we realised we were being followed.’

‘I fear you were not only followed but hunted,’ Elladan told him solemnly. ‘We have come across several bands of these foul creatures in recent weeks but never before have they been chasing travellers. We had best get you to Rivendell.’

So saying, he jumped back up onto the boulder and disappeared once more.

‘Do you have something against walking around things?’ Glóin asked Elrohir, who had remained behind. Thorin worried that their rescuer would take offence but thankfully his sense of humour held up. Indeed, he laughed gaily and bowed again.

‘It takes such a long time,’ he told Glóin with a pretence of solemnity. ‘Imagine all the other things we could be doing instead!’

Still smiling broadly at the group, he gestured to the packs littering the floor.

‘I am afraid you will have to undo all your good work with those,’ he said, then looked closer at their ponies, who were clearly suffering the effects of their sprint and the sudden stop they had been brought to. ‘On second thought we will attach them to our own mounts. Yours have done brave work today, it seems unfair to burden them further.’

‘Indeed,’ Balin replied. ‘If you would not mind the slow pace, I think it would be best if we walked. As long as the orcs are gone there should be no need for haste.’

‘Not at all,’ Elrohir answered. ‘Come, we will redistribute your belongings and then we can begin. Imladris is a day or so from here at walking pace but better to walk than to harm the ponies.’

«««

Despite Thorin’s concern, the walk to Imladris passed quickly and with no quarrels between his Company and any of their elven hosts. In fact, Fíli and Kíli seemed to have struck up a friendship with the twins and Bilbo was thrilled to be among elves again, chattering with many of their guides along the way. If the others stayed close together and said nothing, at least they did not growl and take umbrage at every laughing comment as they might have done before.

Elrohir, it turned out, had underestimated the difference between an elf’s walking pace and that of a dwarf or a hobbit. Rather than make their way onward in the dark, the elves found them a good place to rest and set up camp. One of their number, whom Thorin was told was the surest of foot even in the dark, was sent on ahead to warn Lord Elrond that he had visitors on the way.

The dwarves were all thankful for the rest and they ate eagerly. It seemed a very long time since they had had any sleep, despite being less than a day since they had been awoken by the trolls. The disturbed rest, fighting and fleeing had taken their toll. Thorin noted that every dwarf found the time to fuss over their pony a little and more than one item was snuck out of their supplies to be given as a treat.

‘We do not always hear good things of dwarves,’ Elladan spoke, scaring the life out of Thorin.

‘It seems it is my fate to be frightened out of my wits by those who move more quietly than I,’ he said once he had recovered himself. Elladan gave him a querying look and Thorin informed him, ‘I would not turn your back on Master Nori,’ here he gestured towards Nori’s distinctive hairstyle, ‘he is quieter than he looks.’

‘I will bravely resist the temptation to find out which of us is the quieter,’ Elladan replied with another smile. ‘Your people treat their mounts well,’ he said, apparently returning to his earlier point.

‘They have no reason not to,’ Thorin said in confusion. ‘The ponies have done very well by us this day, they deserve the spoiling.’

‘I agree,’ Elladan assured him. ‘You would find many of my kind, however, who would tell you that dwarves care little for living beings, only for their gold and jewels and their stone.’

‘I imagine that is true of some,’ Thorin replied after a moment. ‘Dwarves are not all the same any more than elves are. Your people, on short acquaintance, seem a great deal more humorous than those I knew in my youth.’

‘I fear that may be correct,’ Elladan said sadly. ‘Our brethren have suffered much hardship in recent years – or years that seem recent to us at least. Thranduil’s land is a harsh place these days and his temper grows harsh to match. No doubt his people follow him. It is a sad situation. He resents us for what he sees as our easy life and for the gifts we were given that he was not.’

‘Gifts?’ Thorin queried, more interested in this conversation that he had thought to be.

‘Apologies, Master Oakenshield,’ Ellladan said, ‘I have spoken out of turn and can go no further without risking my father’s ire. It is not something that is normally spoken of and without asking him…’

‘You might well reveal something only to find that he would rather you had not,’ Thorin finished for him. ‘I will take no offence,’ he said softly, ‘I, too, have been the son of a leader of my people. I have fallen foul of such unspoken rules at least once.’

‘Then you are a generous companion and I am grateful,’ Elladan said, bowing slightly to show his thanks. ‘I will think more kindly of dwarves when next I meet any, Thorin, son of Thrain. I am glad to have met you.’

Well, Thorin thought to himself, that had been a rather odd conversation. He wasn’t entirely sure what they had been talking about for most of it, but he too could admit that the sons of Elrond were easier to get along with than he had hoped. Perhaps this section of his task, at least, would not be so hard.

For now, however, he had best see to his own Company. There was dinner to be eaten and there were things he wished to say to them.

«««

Thorin fetched his dinner from Bombur, who had kept some over the fire for him. The Company had all been seated around the fire, though Balin rose as Thorin arrived, saying that his old bones could do with some sleep.

‘Your bones are not so much older than mine,’ Thorin teased his friend, ‘though your hair may be whiter. I would have a moment with you all, if you can resist the call of your blankets a little longer, Balin.’

Balin took his seat again, proving that there was still life within him by lobbing a small stone at Thorin’s head. Though most of the Company laughed, Dori and Bombur still looked a little surprise to see their king treated so casually. They would learn, Thorin thought. Give it a month or two more and they would be just as bad as Dwalin and Balin. Formality would not survive their journey this time, he suspected. Once all attention was with him, including that of a sleepy-looking hobbit, Thorin began to speak.

‘Some years ago,’ he started, ‘had we come on such a quest, I would not have spoken to you as I do now. I would have taken for granted what you did today as being what any good dwarf would do in such a situation. I suspect now that it was a naïve view. I have been proud of those I call my companions today. You fought bravely, all of you, and you thought fast.’

Here he looked around the fire. First at Ori, who blushed. Then at Kíli, who gave the shyest smile Thorin had ever seen out of him. Then at Nori, who tried to look as if he did not care at all. Finally, at Bilbo, who simply looked surprised.

‘I am glad to have you with me,’ Thorin finished, ‘all of you. You make me braver and more willing to face the challenges ahead. I thank you. I thank you as well for your restraint these last few hours.’ Here he looked at Glóin and Dwalin, who had bitten their tongues more than once.

‘Get what sleep you can,’ he told them all. ‘We will start early in the morning, I believe.’

He would have to talk to Bilbo about that look of surprise, Thorin noted to himself. For now, however, all seemed well among the Company.

«««

Thorin would never think Rivendell as beautiful as his own home. It had not the sturdiness that dwarves preferred and wood did not reflect the light the way the stone of Erebor did. Nevertheless, he could not fault Bilbo for his awe. Seen for the first, or even the second, time there was an ingenuity to elven architecture that drew the eye. It must be more solid than it appeared, for it seemed to have endured many long years and still it stood.

Arriving in the company of Elrond’s sons, and as expected guests, meant that their reception was less fraught than previously. Lord Elrond came down to meet them, as effortlessly regal as he had appeared before, and greeted them warmly.

‘Come,’ he said, forgoing his own tongue this time. ‘There is food and wine here for you and you may rest if you will. You are all welcome in Imladris.’

‘Our thanks,’ Thorin responded on the Company’s behalf. ‘We are glad to have arrived, for we have had a trying few days and we have need of your counsel.’

‘Ah,’ interrupted a voice Thorin had not expected to hear again on this journey. ‘There you are! I had wondered what took you so long.’

‘Gandalf!’ Fíli and Kíli cried in unison. ‘How are you come here?’

‘I have been waiting for you, of course,’ Gandalf announced as if that should be obvious. ‘You took longer than I had expected.’

‘At Bag End you gave no indication that we should expect to see you again,’ Thorin said slowly. A large part of him wished to let this go and just be thankful that Gandalf had reappeared. Mahal knew things had been easier before when they had been travelling in his company. However, he was really very irritated to realise that the wizard had allowed them to think themselves abandoned, only to reappear acting as if all was well.

‘Well,’ Gandalf huffed slightly, ‘There were many hasty words said that evening. Perhaps I did not express myself as clearly as I might have done. We are all here now, at least. All is well.’

‘For my part,’ Bilbo said, stepping forward, ‘I would apologise for those words. Apparently two days was too much time for me to stew on my grievances and quite enough time for me to lose my manners. I would never turn any guest out of my home, no matter how they came there, Gandalf. I am sorry.’

Thorin could only marvel at Bilbo. Not only was he confident enough to place himself in the middle of what could have become a fraught discussion between the leader of their Company and its wizard, in front of a Lord of Elves, but he had also very politely managed to place Gandalf neatly on the wrong foot. For how could Gandalf now avoid apologising for his own actions?

‘Thank you, Bilbo,’ the old wizard said. ‘I will apologise to all of you as well. Thorin is right, I should have made sure you knew I would meet you here.’

‘This, I take it, Gandalf,’ Lord Elrond interjected, ‘is why I have sent patrols out every day this last week?’

‘It is,’ Gandalf replied, ‘I grew concerned when Thorin and his Company did not appear. It has been nearly three weeks since they left Hobbiton, I worried that ill had befallen them.’

‘Did it not seem,’ Elrond asked with deceptive mildness, ‘that it might be useful to tell me so, so that I might in turn inform my patrols what they were looking for? We have had reports of a group of trolls preying upon villagers not far from here. What if they had been caught?’

‘As it happens, we were,’ Thorin informed Elrond. ‘Though you need not concern yourself with the trolls any longer, unless there was another group around. It took some effort but we did manage to free ourselves.’

‘We are dwarves,’ Dwalin said audibly. ‘We don’t need rescuing like fair maidens.’

Kíli trod firmly on Dwalin’s foot and began to whisper irritably in his ear. Dwalin would hear about this for some time to come, Thorin thought. After Thorin had sworn he could trust Dwalin to hold his tongue, it was he, not Kíli or Fíli, who had made the first misstep. Aloud, Thorin said,

‘That, Dwalin, is why my sister hits you so often. Tell any dwarven woman she needs rescuing and see where it gets you.’

Lord Elrond laughed suddenly. ‘I assure you, Thorin, son of Thrain, he would get a similar reaction from most elven women as well. Just because they do not often fight does not mean that they cannot defend themselves.’

‘Now,’ he continued, ‘I have kept you standing here quite long enough. Please, come, Erestor will show you to your rooms. I hope to see you all at dinner.’

Once they were in their rooms, the Company reconvened in a parlour that had been given over to them. Before anything was said Thorin turned and glared balefully at Dwalin.

‘I know, I know,’ Dwalin moaned, ‘I should not have said anything.’

‘Dwalin, I will warn you as I once warned the boys… if I cannot trust you to guard your tongue then you will come no further with us.’

‘Thorin, it was one small comment!’ Dwalin exclaimed. ‘I didn’t even insult them.’

‘How often, in Ered Luin, did one small comment turn into a fight you were called to because it was half-destroying a tavern?’ Thorin asked him. ‘We cannot be careless. There is too much at stake.’

‘Very well, Your Majesty,’ Dwalin said stiffly, clearly affronted and angry. ‘I will be sure to stay silent in future.’

With that Dwalin stormed out, leaving the rest of the Company standing baffled in his wake. They looked at each other nervously, none of them wanting to draw Thorin’s attention.

‘Was that really necessary, Thorin?’ Balin asked wearily.

‘Should I have allowed him to make such a comment and ignored it?’ Thorin asked in turn. ‘I would not have done so for anyone else here.’

‘No,’ Balin told him, ‘but you would not have called them to account in front of the entire Company either. You presumed on his friendship as much as he presumed on yours.’

Sighing and rubbing the back of his neck, Thorin admitted to himself that Balin was right. He had judged his comments and his timing ill and had insulted one of his oldest friends in doing so. Looking at Balin, Thorin was about to ask what he would suggest when Balin sighed again.

‘Let me go and talk to him,’ Balin said firmly. ‘I would rather he calmed down before the two of you spoke again.’

Thorin nodded and Balin, too, left the room. Silence reigned for a moment broken, as it so often was, by Bofur.

‘Well,’ he stated cheerfully, ‘that was all very exciting. Who feels like being beaten at cards?’ He produced a pack from his coat and the Company jumped on the chance to release some of the tension.

«««

That evening, as the Company were served a meal which happened to include far more meat than it had last time, Thorin dined with Gandalf, Elrond, Bilbo and Balin. Relations between himself and Dwalin were still frosty, but Balin had assured him it would blow over soon enough.

Dinner was filled with general conversation, much of it passing Thorin by entirely. He was a warrior surrounded by scholars and he was content to leave them to their discussions of stories and poetry while he ate the best meal he had had in some years. As the meal drew to a close, the conversation turned to more serious topics. First of all, Thorin presented the blades to Lord Elrond for examination.

‘In a troll hoard, you say?’ Elrond asked him. ‘These must have come from a dragon or goblin hoard at one time. They are from Gondolin, forged by my kin for use against the goblins which eventually destroyed the city.’

Laying the two swords on the table, he explained their names and origins as he had before. Then he turned to Thorin.

‘Which suited you best, Master Oakenshield?’ Elrond asked him.

Thorin found himself slightly off guard. In truth, he had half-expected Elrond to take both the swords as artefacts of his people even though he had not done so the last time they had had this conversation. They would have been fine blades for his sons, Thorin had thought. Then again, Thorin had not thought to look at those the twins bore. Perhaps they had better still.

‘Come,’ Elrond said easily, ‘You are a swordsman, and a weaponsmith as well, unless I am much mistaken. You will have tried them from curiosity if nothing else.’

‘Of the two, I like Orcrist best,’ Thorin forced himself to say. ‘It is more suited to the dwarven style of combat.’ He was carefully not pointing out, as Elrond had carefully not mentioned, that it was also the shorter of the two. Glamdring would have been far too long for Thorin to wield comfortably.

‘Very well, then,’ Elrond said, passing him both sword and scabbard. ‘I hope it serves you well.’

‘If you have no objection, mellon,’ Gandalf said then, ‘I would take Glamdring from you. If we are to cross the Misty Mountains a blade might well be a helpful thing to have.’

‘By all means, Mithrandir, if you wish it the sword is yours.’

Glamdring was quickly strapped to Gandalf’s side. Just as Thorin was about to introduce a new topic, he noticed Bilbo considering Sting.

‘What of Bilbo’s weapon?’ he asked suddenly. ‘Has it a history you might know?’

Elrond held out his hand and a startled Bilbo handed it to him hilt first. Elrond considered the blade for a moment, then closed his eyes. Thorin wondered if he was trying to find a way to avoid hurting Bilbo’s feelings and wished he had said nothing. Then, Elrond opened his eyes and spoke clearly.

‘This dagger has seen battle before, yes,’ Elrond told them. ‘It has served many a wielder very well. Its greatest deeds, however, are yet to come. It waits for you to name it, Bilbo, and together there is much you can do.’

Bilbo seemed somehow bigger than usual as he took the dagger back and he placed it securely in its scabbard before patting it gently on the hilt.

‘Now,’ Elrond said before anyone could speak further. ‘You said you had need of my counsel. How may I aid you?’

The map was duly handed over and, once the right conditions had been found, Elrond revealed the secrets only Thorin knew. Balin explained Durin’s Day to Elrond, whose gaze sharpened.

‘What need have you of this map?’ he asked Thorin carefully. ‘Where do you plan to go?’

Before Gandalf could intervene Thorin took the next step in the plan Mahal had laid out to him over many long conversations.

‘About that,’ Thorin told Elrond, ‘I would speak with you alone if I might. Though perhaps the morning might be better. Some things are more easily told during daylight.’

Gandalf looked very taken aback and Elrond was not at all unaware of this. Watching his old friend carefully, he agreed that he and Thorin could by all means talk in the morning. When all four of them might have left, he called Gandalf back. Thorin was not the only one who slowed his step as they left and so he, Balin and Bilbo all heard Elrond say, ‘You keep a great deal close, Mithrandir, when it might be far easier to speak of it among those who could help you.’

«««

Though Thorin heard none of it, there was much conversation that night. Radagast had travelled to Rivendell with the Morgul blade, and the White Council spoke late into the night. Finally, when it seemed that Saruman might forbid Gandalf from helping the dwarves to Erebor, Galadriel held up her hand.

‘It would be wise of us to remember,’ she told them serenely, ‘that we are not the only forces for good in this world. There is a purpose that moves Thorin Oakenshield on this journey and I do not believe it is an evil one.’

Turning away from them, she paused a moment before she spoke again.

‘Long we have reminded ourselves that the three oldest, purest rings remained with us,’ Galadriel stated, gesturing to herself, to Gandalf and to Elrond. ‘Long have we stood vigilant against the dark and believed only the Elves and the Istari truly understood the need for such a watch. But the dwarves did not fall completely to Sauron’s power. For many years Thorin Oakenshield’s family held their ring and for many years did their kingdom prosper. Only Thror truly succumbed to the greed the ring tried to breed. Thrain’s fate we cannot know. Thorin will rule without a ring to taint him - I would see where his path leads without interfering.’

‘And when _his path_ drives a dragon into the open and brings fire and destruction to the East?’ Saruman questioned. ‘What then?’

‘Then the dwarves will take responsibility for what they have wrought,’ Galadriel argued, her tone as harsh as it ever got. ‘We cannot command the lives of other beings in Middle Earth for our own ends, however good they might be. Thorin will choose his way. Let his choices be his own.’

Saruman said nothing in reply. He left the table and soon after left Rivendell and returned to Orthanc. What his thoughts were none could say.

With his exit, Galadriel turned to Gandalf once more. The Morgul blade would not be ignored. The Council could not continue only to watch.

«««

Thorin slept well that night, despite his concern over what his meeting with Elrond might bring. He needed the rest as much as any of his fellows. Despite his early thoughts, the journey was not actually less stressful when you knew what was coming. It was a different kind of apprehension but it wore on him all the same. Had it not, he might not have misjudged the situation with Dwalin so badly.

That, at least, seemed to have been resolved the next morning. When Dwalin came into their dining room to eat, he clapped Thorin so hard on the back he nearly choked and laughed loudly at the sight. Having done so, he appeared to believe their quarrel was over and Thorin was happy to let it be so. His meeting with Elrond would, unfortunately, not be so brief.

‘Come in, Thorin,’ Elrond said graciously when Thorin arrived at his study. ‘I was not sure when you and your Company would rise. You have had a long journey.’

‘It will be a great deal longer by the time we are finally home,’ Thorin pointed out. ‘We are grateful for the time we spend here.’

‘Like Master Baggins,’ Elrond assured him, ‘my door is always open to those who need a place to stay. What did you wish to speak with me about?’

‘First of all, our quest, if I may,’ Thorin told him. ‘I am not unaware of your disapproval. You fear we may unleash the dragon upon the world once more.’

‘I cannot say that you are wrong,’ Elrond replied. ‘A dragon is a fearsome foe, as you know only too well. The damage it could cause would be a terrible blow.’

‘It would. Smaug’s capacity for destruction I remember clearly,’ Thorin told him. ‘I will not say that I wish for your permission. I doubt you would believe me, knowing the stubbornness of dwarves, and it would suggest that I can be turned aside, which I cannot. I would have you understand why I am so determined though.’

‘I would be happy to hear it,’ Elrond said, settling back into his chair as if preparing himself to listen.

‘Your son, Elladan, spoke to me on our way here about his view of dwarves,’ Elrond looked slightly pained and, as one who had raised two boisterous boys, Thorin felt a pang of sympathy. ‘He did not insult me, nor was any insult meant. He wished to convey that he had been wrong in some of his assumptions and I took it as the compliment he intended. It is not an uncommon view of my people though. We are thought to love precious gems and metals above all else, I believe, and to have little care for any but our own race.’

Elrond was an honest person, he did not try to deny that it was a common view among his own people. He did assure Thorin, however, that it was not the only view he would find among the elves.

‘No, I am sure it is not,’ Thorin told him. ‘Just as you would get several different answers about the nature of elves should you ask different members of my Company.’

As he had intended, the comment eased some of the tension that seemed to have come into the room. The two allowed themselves a moment of laughter before they continued.

‘We do not go to Erebor for gold,’ Thorin spoke bluntly. ‘It will be there and I will not deny my Company their share in payment for the danger they have faced. I will also take my own share, for rebuilding Erebor will require many resources and the treasure will help pay for them. However, my concern is not for the gold but the dragon that guards it.

‘I strongly believe that Smaug will not remain content amongst his treasure forever. He is a living being and he cannot gain nourishment entirely from the gold, for all that I have heard of dragons consuming it in the past. Eventually he will leave Erebor for one reason or another and he may well deal wanton destruction once more. His eye was on Erebor when first he came. I can only assume he burned Dale solely for the pleasure of doing so.’

‘You are right,’ Elrond said quietly when Thorin stopped speaking. ‘It is perhaps a fault of my people that we are so content to wait for trouble to come to us. We live long lives and we try to gather all the peace and happiness that we can against the days when darkness comes once more. Your people are more direct, I think. You see a problem and work to solve it as best you can in the time you have given to you.’

‘So I hope to do,’ Thorin told him. ‘If the dragon is not dead when I die it will not be for lack of trying. My grandfather brought Smaug to the East with his greed. My aim will be to destroy him.’

Elrond nodded slowly, thinking on what he had been told. He had been surprised by Thorin Oakenshield and now he was curious about him as he had not been curious about a dwarf for many years.

‘You speak of your death lightly, Thorin,’ Elrond said gravely. ‘Do you not fear to die?’

‘I do not fear it,’ Thorin said, ‘but nor do I wish it. I wish to see Erebor filled with my people once more. I wish to see children born there and to see my nephews grow into the kings I know they can be. When I pass, I hope to know that Fíli will follow me and guard our people as our line has for centuries. If that cannot be, if my death is the price we must pay to reclaim Erebor, then I will not pay it gladly but willingly. Better mine than any other, for I am the last of those that might have averted Smaug’s coming and did not.’

‘You go to do a brave thing,’ Elrond said at last, bowing to him slightly, ‘and a good one. If you have need of any supplies before you go you have only to ask. My people will see you have what you need.’

‘Thank you,’ Thorin said. ‘I am glad we will not leave enemies behind us when we go. Though I cannot say that there will be no one offended. My Company are not the type to mince words, as you saw.’

‘We are hardier than we look, Thorin,’ Elrond told him. ‘They will not be the first forthright guests we have housed.’

‘As for the other conversation I hoped to have with you,’ Thorin began, ‘I had hoped for what knowledge you could share about the King of Mirkwood.’

‘Thranduil,’ Elrond said, surprised. ‘You mean to go through Mirkwood then?’

‘I do,’ Thorin replied, ‘for now we know that we must be at Erebor by Durin’s Day and the only path that will get us there soon enough runs through Mirkwood. That is not the only reason, though. When Erebor is rebuilt once more it will need its old alliances. In the latter years of Erebor the alliance with the Greenwood began to crumble. Fault lay on both sides, but I will admit that much of it rested with my grandfather. By the time we needed Thranduil’s aid the alliance was so badly broken that he ignored it entirely. If I am to convince him to forgive us I will need to know what else I might use encourage him to do so. I confess, you were the only person I could think of to ask.’

‘What _else_ you might use suggests you have something in mind already,’ Elrond queried.

‘I do. Thror denied Thranduil’s request for help in dealing with the evil that turned the Greenwood into the Mirkwood it is now. I know not what aid he wished for, for Thror did not even hear him out before he refused. I will offer our aid as reparation and some share of the treasure that lies in Erebor now.’

‘That, certainly, will help,’ Elrond told him. ‘Imladris and the Greenwood have not been close allies for years. Thranduil holds a bitterness towards us that soured relations and the more the evil spread the more bitter he became.’

‘Was he refused help by his own people as well?’ Thorin asked, not realising how accusing that would sound until it was out of his mouth.

‘He probably felt as if he was,’ Elrond remarked and then thought hard for a moment. He removed his hand from his lap and placed it on the table.

‘One confidence for another,’ he said to Thorin with a half-smile. Then suddenly Thorin could see that Elrond wore a truly beautiful ring, though he had never remarked it before.

‘Three rings for the Elven kings under the sky,’ Elrond intoned. ‘This is Vilya, the Ring of Air. I have not always held it, it belonged to another for many years. It is by Vilya’s power that Rivendell is preserved as it is despite all that occurs outside. Lady Galadriel holds another of these rings, by which she keeps Lórien as beautiful as it has always been. The third lies elsewhere, though its location I will not tell.’

‘Not with Thranduil,’ Thorin hazarded and Elrond nodded.

‘No, not with Thranduil.’

‘So as his kingdom grows smaller and darker….’

‘Ours remain the same,’ Elrond finished.

‘I could see how that might make a ruler bitter,’ Thorin commented carefully. ‘These must be the gifts Elladan spoke of but could say no more about.’

‘I expect they are,’ Elrond agreed. ‘I can only be glad he did not say more, though in the end I revealed it myself. All else that I can tell you would be that though Thranduil’s people and my own are both elves, we are not entirely the same. The Wood-elves were allied closely with Erebor partly because of your people’s skill at crafting the gems and other materials that Thranduil’s people had less talent for but loved nevertheless.’

‘The gems!’ Thorin said suddenly, startling his host and startling himself slightly as well.

‘My apologies,’ he said to Elrond. ‘I remembered something I had not before. The last time that Thranduil visited Erebor, my grandfather had a box full of brilliant, white gems to show him. Thranduil appeared entranced but, when he looked about to take them, Thror had them removed. I know not what happened to them but I never saw them again. Or Thranduil, for that matter, until the day Smaug came.’

‘Those would, indeed, be the type of gems that Thranduil would covet,’ Elrond informed him. ‘If they were denied to him then, you would have a powerful bargaining tool indeed if you found them.’

‘Thank you, Lord Elrond,’ Thorin said with some formality. ‘You have aided me greatly this day.’

‘You are most welcome,’ Elrond informed him. ‘Should you speak to Thranduil… tell him that while I do not have many soldiers in Rivendell, those warriors that I can provide are his if he needs them to deal with the darkness. Perhaps it is time to act, after all.’

Thorin bowed low and received a similar bow in turn. Then, the conversation over, he went in search of his Company once more.

««««««

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to plug someone else's story. Elladan and Elrohir were introduced to me as characters by Isabeau of Greenlea's fantastic Captain My Captain over on fanfiction.net. My characters are based on, although obviously different to, Isabeau's. I don't think she would mind. If any of you are into LOTR fanfic, enjoy novel length stories and haven't heard of Captain My Captain please pop over and have a look. It is a truly wonderful story and my favourite fanfic ever :) Plug ended.


	6. A Difficult Path To Tread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin must tread carefully now that his Company leave Rivendell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the comments and kudos, yet again. Special mention goes to BM, who has managed to comment on every chapter so far, and to Judayre, who is writing the logical version of this story in the comments section! Also, thank you elegon for identifying Peter Ustinov as one of the people who said my title quote. 
> 
> Real life kicked back in today, so today's update and tomorrow's are the last daily updates I can guarantee. I'll try and stock up on chapters over the weekend.

 

 

Chapter Six: A Difficult Path To Tread

Distracted as they had been, Thorin did not think anyone could blame him for having forgotten his brief exchange with Balin on the road. Unfortunately for him, Balin had a mind like a mithril trap and he wanted answers enough that he was willing to hunt his king down to get them.

‘Thorin!’ he called from the other end of the corridor as Thorin returned to his rooms. ‘Just the dwarf I was looking for.’

‘I hate it when you say that,’ Thorin informed him seriously. ‘It almost always ends with me drowning in parchment.’

‘Then you will be happy, this time,’ Balin said with a smile, ‘for I can honestly inform you that there is no parchment involved whatsoever.’

‘And yet somehow,’ Thorin responded, glancing at his old friend suspiciously, ‘I am not comforted.’

‘I can’t imagine why,’ Balin said blithely. ‘Ah, this will do.’ At that, Balin yanked Thorin into an empty room with a strength few people realised he possessed.

‘Sit down,’ Balin offered graciously. Thorin remained standing and glared at him instead.

‘Why do I feel like one of your apprentices, about to be set a test that I knew nothing about and am completely unprepared for?’

‘I could not say,’ Balin told him. ‘A guilty conscience perhaps? After all, it would seem that there are things you have not been telling me.’

Ah, Thorin thought dourly, I am caught then. What do I do now?

‘You knew what was coming in those woods, Thorin Oakenshield,’ Balin stated with no uncertainty in his tone. ‘You were, to use my brother’s phrase “as twitchy as a squirrel with only one nut to see him through winter”. You hurried us along as if Durin’s Bane itself was on our heels and just when I think that you have completely lost your mind – I hear wargs calling in the distance!’

‘They were hardly the first wargs we have heard on this journey, Balin,’ Thorin insisted. ‘It was not so great a leap to assume that we might have trouble coming.’

‘Except that we had dealt with the trouble,’ Balin replied. ‘Do not think Fíli’s quick defence distracted me as it did Nori! From the moment the trolls were dealt with you wished to be gone and gone with speed.’

For a moment the two simply looked at each other, both weighing what had been said and considering the answers that might be given.

‘Thorin, you know something!’ Balin stated again forcefully. ‘Somehow, without any real evidence, you _knew_ those orcs were coming for us. I will know how!’

‘And if I cannot tell you?’ Thorin asked more harshly than he meant to. ‘What then, Balin?’

Balin began to pace the room and for long minutes nothing was said. Occasionally, Thorin could hear Balin muttering to himself as he paced, but otherwise there was silence except for the firm, angry falls of Balin’s feet. After an eternity, Balin turned back to him.

‘Are we in danger?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ Thorin told him plainly. ‘We are in danger on every step of this journey. Evil walks the world once more and I have no doubt it will hunt us if it gets the chance.’

‘Thorin, is there anything I will need to know to try and keep our Company safe?’ Balin questioned him. Thorin knew, of course, that Balin took much responsibility onto his own shoulders, but he had not realised how much Balin took the safety of the Company as his own concern. What did he need to know? Thorin asked himself. The answer formed quickly once he focused.

‘Azog hunts us,’ he told Balin bluntly. ‘That is the conclusion I have drawn. Gandalf told me before we set out that there was a price on my head and I can think of no other who would care enough to place it.’

‘It was not so long ago you believed Azog dead,’ Balin said slowly. ‘Why the change, Thorin?’

‘I hoped him dead,’ Thorin said, closing his eyes. ‘I _wished_ , Balin… but wishes are for children. We must deal with reality. I have a price on my head and there are orcs on our tail. Those are the facts.’

‘I never truly believed the Defiler dead,’ Balin said ruefully. ‘If he is looking for you much would be explained. Very well, I will talk to Dwalin. We will need to be very careful in those mountains.’

‘Yes, we will. The others will need to be told as well, especially the boys. I doubt Azog will stop with my death once he realises I have heirs of my own.’

‘You would have me speak of it to them?’ Balin asked.

‘I would,’ Thorin told him. It shamed him not to take the task upon himself, but though he could mention the loss of his family in passing and keep his composure, he feared to speak of it so fully would be beyond him.

Which was no excuse, he knew. Balin and Dwalin, too, had lost at Azanulbizar. To give this burden to Balin was something he could do only because Balin was his subject. Suddenly, Thorin changed his mind. ‘No,’ he said firmly, ‘I will do it. The boys already know most of it, anyway, as do most apart from Bilbo. There is no reason I cannot fill in the gaps.’

‘Are you sure, Thorin?’ Balin checked. ‘I will do it to spare you the pain.’

‘Who, then, would spare yours?’ Thorin asked with a sad smile. ‘No, Balin, this task must be mine.’

Balin nodded respectfully and they sat in silence for another moment.

‘Is there aught else I should know?’ Balin asked at last. ‘If you say no I will believe you, though I am sure that there is more you are not telling me.’

‘There are things I could tell you,’ Thorin said, ‘but I do not believe it is necessary that you know them.’

As much as he wished to share the knowledge of what was to come with someone, Thorin knew he could not. If Balin, Mahal had asked him once, why not Dwalin? Or his nephews? Which of his Company would be told and which would not? How soon would that split them in two? Better that they react to situations naturally than second guess themselves all the way to Erebor. Let that, too, be Thorin’s task alone.

‘Very well, then,’ Balin finished. ‘At dinner tonight. I assume we are to leave in the morning, now that you have spoken to our host?’

‘We are,’ Thorin agreed. ‘Lord Elrond told me that we should request anything we may need from his household. If it is within their power they will provide it.’

‘That, at least, is good news,’ Balin said, trying to lay aside old memories. ‘I will find Glóin and take him to terrorise Erestor.’

Thorin gave his friend a speaking glance and Balin laughed suddenly.

‘Do not look so dreary, laddie, I’ll not let the elf come to any harm.’

With that Balin was off again, his mind weighing their needs against the weights their ponies could carry and the amount of food they had against the distance they must cover before they might next acquire supplies. It was a wonder, Thorin acknowledged, that his second was not constantly exhausted.

«««

The story Thorin told his companions that night was plain and unembellished. He would never have Balin’s flair for storytelling, nor would he try to mimic it. Let them hear his account as he recalled it, in the blunt, painful moments that had left he and Dís as the last of their line.

It was not, as he had told Balin, a tale most of them were unfamiliar with. Their victory that day had, indeed, come at a cost beyond the count of grief. Even among his own Company there were those who had suffered. Óin, who should not even have been there, would never recover his hearing no matter what healing he was given. Bifur, too, would never be the same. It had been a long bitter war, won with a bitter victory.

‘You all know of Azanulbizar, except Bilbo’ Thorin told them briefly. ‘Some of you were there,’ he continued, nodding to Óin and Bifur, Balin and Dwalin.

‘We travelled to Moria that day expecting to end our war with the orcs once and for all and to reclaim the great mines of our forefathers. When Azog came out that day, he was a foe greater than we had expected to encounter. Thror had believed the orcs to be a leaderless horde, scrapping between each other as often as they attacked others. We had seen no sign of any true leader behind them. We were badly informed and badly prepared.

‘Azog, on the other hand, knew much about the line of Durin. He knew enough to fight his way straight to the King. Thror was old by then and he had spent more time fretting over our losses than training with weapons. Azog was the biggest orc we had ever encountered. He stood over 7 feet tall and he was a pale white colour that I have seen on no other orc since. The fight was short and Thror was beheaded.’

Bilbo gasped in horror, before clapping his hand over his mouth as if to hold the sound in. Bofur, sat next to him, rested a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. Thorin hoped his expression conveyed his thanks. Their hobbit knew little of war, or the history of the dwarves of Durin’s line, and would doubtless find most of this tale quite a shock.

‘My brother, Frerin, fought with Balin and Dwalin’s father, Fundin. They had been charged with leadership of part of our forces though Frerin, like many others,’ here Thorin’s eyes rested on Óin for a moment, ‘was far too young to be involved in such a battle. Frerin and Fundin both fell that day. Thrain, my father, was gone from the battlefield when the fighting was done. We have never seen him since.’

Fíli and Kíli shuffled close to one another as this account was given. Their mother had told them a similar version of the story when they were younger, to warn them against mentioning anything relating to the Battle to their uncle if it could be avoided. Somehow, this version chilled them more. It was so devoid of any description that their imaginations supplied the horror for them.

‘I fought Azog, after Thror’s death.’ Thorin finished. ‘By rights I, too, should have died, but somehow my luck held. I was disarmed but managed to find a sword among the dead. I used it to cut off Azog’s left arm below the elbow. He was dragged back into Moria and I believed him dead.’

He allowed the Company some time for this to sink in, checking to make sure that Bilbo was well. The hobbit appeared to have regained his composure, though he stayed close to Bofur and one hand was unconsciously gripping at Sting’s hilt.

‘Now to the reason I am telling you this,’ Thorin said, holding each set of eyes in turn. ‘When Gandalf spoke to me before we left Ered Luin he told me I was being hunted. We have seen the truth of that in our journey so far. I can think of none other than Azog who would care enough to do such a thing. He swore to wipe out Durin’s line and it seems he intends to keep trying.’

At this point, Thorin looked straight at his nephews, as serious as they had ever seen him.

‘We _must_ be careful,’ he told them adamantly. ‘Azog is a mighty foe, and though we diminished his forces once we cannot trust that they are still diminished. On the road we stay together. No one wanders far, no matter what they see or think they see. If there is the slightest hint of danger I would know of it. I would far rather be worried for no reason than caught by surprise. I would have your word on this.’

‘You have it,’ Fíli said without hesitation, ‘from all of us.’ Here, Fíli looked around their gathering and received nods of agreement.

‘Thank you,’ Thorin said. ‘I regret interrupting so peaceful an evening with such tales, but they needed to be told.’

That seemed to be the signal the others were waiting for. They split into their family groups, speaking lowly to one another. Bofur easily brought Bilbo in amongst his own family and Thorin could see Bifur apparently trying to explain his injury to the hobbit further. Ori sat on the floor at Dori’s feet, his brother’s hands deftly un-braiding and re-braiding his hair as Ori attempted to sketch something in his notebook and Nori sharpened his knives nearby.

Thorin’s own family had apparently decided he was in need of their presence. Fíli and Kíli dropped down on either side of him suddenly and leant against him unashamedly, as they had not since they were very young. Absently, Thorin found himself imitating Dori’s example, running his fingers again and again over Kíli’s hair, smoothing the constant mess it was determined to become.

‘We will be careful,’ Kíli told him quietly, leaning further into the touch.

‘I know,’ Thorin told him equally quietly. He sighed out a deep breath and pulled Fíli a little closer as well. ‘I know.’

«««

By the next morning, Thorin was heartily sick of long, difficult conversations. He fervently hoped that the last discussion he needed to have would be neither. It took little searching to find Bilbo in his favourite spot, on one of the balconies overlooking the whole of the valley. He stood, as he often did, with his eyes closed breathing in the fresh air.

‘It is a beautiful place,’ Thorin said quietly, loathe to disturb the silence. Unfortunately, he seemed to have startled Bilbo, who jumped and spun round.

‘Considering that I am on this journey for my ability to move without being noticed,’ he said wryly, ‘I had expected the rest of you to be noisier.’

Thorin chuckled. ‘You will not be saying that when we are back on the road,’ he told Bilbo. ‘Do not think I missed your comments about “all this dwarvish racket”.’

Bilbo flushed slightly but held his ground. Peering with exaggerated care at Thorin’s clothing he muttered, ‘Well, I should be generous. I suppose with that much metal jangling around it would be very difficult to be subtle.’

Thorin gave him an excessively haughty look and said nothing. Then, letting it drop, he moved to the discussion they really needed to be having.

‘Bilbo, you seemed greatly surprised when I thanked you along with the rest of the Company. I had wondered why?’

Bilbo looked startled again and Thorin regretted that he seemed to spend most of his time setting the hobbit on edge. It would be nice if Bilbo could be as comfortable in Thorin’s presence as he was with Bofur or Ori. He had been a better friend than Thorin truly deserved, especially at the end of their previous quest, but it was very difficult to be friends with someone who so often seemed on the verge of expiring from nerves.

‘It was only that I did not really contribute in any way,’ Bilbo told him, voice evening out as he spoke. ‘It was the rest of the Company who got us free from the trolls and the elves who rescued us from the orcs. I wasn’t sure what I should be thanked for.’

That was much as Thorin had expected. It was true that Bilbo had played a much greater role in their previous troll encounter. However, he had distinguished himself in other ways that Thorin wished to recognise.

‘Firstly,’ Thorin began, ‘you did the most useful thing you could have with the trolls by making sure we did not lose the ponies out into the woods. Had they bolted then we would never have retrieved them. That none of the others thought of, because we are all trained to fight and it is our instinct to do so when we encounter danger. No matter how little success we might be having.’

Bilbo’s eyes widened in understanding and he nodded his acceptance of Thorin’s point.

‘Secondly, you were the one who thought to keep an eye on the orcs when we stopped,’ Thorin continued. ‘I did not even need to ask you, for you were already doing so. Most likely you are the only one who could have done so without drawing their attention, for you are far quieter and more subtle than most of our companions. Dwalin, for example. Should I wish something beheaded I would look to him immediately, but if he was ever acquainted with subtlety they parted ways long ago.’

At this Bilbo began to laugh. It was one of Thorin’s favourite things about their burglar, how easily he laughed when he was amused. It was probably why Bofur had taken to him so strongly.

‘Also, I was grateful that you bore with our manhandling of you so patiently,’ Thorin finished. ‘We had little time to be polite, or to explain, and not having to do so put us in a far better position. So, as I said then, thank you, Bilbo.’

‘You are very welcome,’ Bilbo said. ‘I confess in a company of dwarves I have felt a little… outmatched. I will never be as accomplished a warrior as even Ori and I am led to believe he has the least training and aptitude. It is good to know I have not been entirely useless.’

‘Of that you can be certain,’ Thorin told him. ‘As you have seen, I am not always the most tactful of people. Had I not been thankful to have you along, I’m sure you would have heard about it by now.’

‘You’re not so bad as all that,’ Bilbo protested. ‘You just… slip every so often.’

‘Hmm,’ Thorin responded. ‘I am lucky that Balin is normally there to smooth such slips over. Although Fíli is better at it than I expected him to be. I underestimated him.’

‘They love you very much,’ Bilbo told him in all seriousness. ‘If nothing else, even had you proclaimed me utterly useless, I would have been reassured of your character by how dearly they love you.’

‘As I said,’ Thorin said with a hint of finality, ‘I have been very lucky. Now, we had better go and find the others before the day gets away from us entirely.’

«««

Elsewhere, a certain member of the Valar was not having the best of luck himself. Somehow or other, Thorin had delayed the dwarves’ journey. Not intentionally, of course, and in the normal run of things Mahal would not have concerned himself with something so paltry. Unfortunately, a series of storms that should have hit the Misty Mountains just as Thorin’s Company were crossing, hence leading them into the cave, down to the goblins and, far more importantly, leading Bilbo to the ring… were gone. It was extremely vexing.

What was to happen to Arda in the next hundred years Mahal did not actually know. Eru doubtless had a plan but the Valar generally took care of their own areas of expertise and left the future of the world in his capable hands. They had a limited sense of what could come to pass but not a moment by moment account.

Hence when Thorin Oakenshield and his nephews had died, Mahal knew only that a huge number of possibilities had died with them. Black clouds had seemed to gather on the horizon for his chosen race. Something important had shifted. Only Mahal did not know what it was. All he had had was fear.

Once before Mahal had defied Eru’s will and had tried to create a people of his own. Though in the end he had been able to give them no life, once they had been animated he had guarded them as best he could through the years. He felt their pains and their joys and rejoiced as their kingdoms grew ever stronger. Evil, however, seemed fated to plague them. Moria fell and then Erebor as well. All was not well for his people.

So Mahal had decided to break the rules one last time. He would pluck Thorin Oakenshield from his death and undo some of the damage that Sauron’s blasted rings seemed determined to do. No gold lust was to harm this last heir of Durin’s line. Let him go into battle unpoisoned and see if he could drive those black clouds away.

It was a brilliant plan. Except that now his dwarves were going to miss the opportunity to get that cursed ring out of the hands of its broken bearer and then a great many other things would likely go wrong instead. It did not take endless foresight to know that the One Ring would rule the fates of many.

‘What is worse,’ a gentle voice said suddenly, ‘a child who seeks to shape things to his own ends, or one who seeks to do so and then hide what he has done?’

‘Ah,’ Mahal murmured.

‘Yes, Aulë,’ Eru told him, ‘you have indeed been caught. Did you think I would not notice when my song returned to a theme I had thought finished? Perhaps your wife and the others did not sense aught amiss but mine is not so narrow a focus.’

‘No, Father,’ Mahal answered, choosing to say little until he saw more of Eru’s reaction.

‘Once before you worked outside my will, and I forgave you and gave life to your creations because they were worthy. What say you now?’

‘That they deserve it still,’ Mahal said, choosing boldness over other responses. ‘They have ever been placed behind your own creations and I knew this to be fair because mine was the fault in making them. But Father the fault was _mine_ and yet they failed even as others grew strong and prospered. I could not simply stand by.’

‘Yet you do not know all,’ Eru told him firmly. ‘They would not have failed, Aulë. They are as much a part of this world as any other. Truly, they do better than your wife’s people, who lost their wives and can do nothing but diminish as the world turns.’

Mahal could not decide between relief and dread. It had been for no reason, his interference. His people would have lived regardless. Now, instead, he had revived one who ought to be dead and begun anew that which ought to have been finished. No wonder Eru was displeased.

‘As it is,’ Eru announced suddenly, ‘I am not inclined to undo that which you have wrought. You are an impetuous child but your work is sound and your purpose good. Let this child of yours continue on his way and see what he can do with the new life he has been given.

‘However, one thing I cannot allow to continue,’ Eru resumed. Mahal steeled himself for the decree that was to come. ‘That foulness must come to light. I will not have it stay there another thousand years to poison the world, nor will I have it fall to your former servants.’

‘Servants?’ Mahal queried. ‘Surely only Mai… Sauron was so foolish as to try and use it to rule all things.’

‘Indeed,’ Eru murmured, ‘I would take a closer look at your Istar if I were you, child. Enough of this talk, let us get the world on course once more.’

With that, Thorin’s poor Company found themselves drenched once more, as the storm that ought to have passed renewed its strength and drove them, conveniently, right where Mahal had needed them to be all along.

«««

‘Where did this even come from?’ Dori called to Thorin, as suddenly howling wind and rain assaulted them on the mountain path they were treading so carefully. As the sky had been blue and clear only moments before, Thorin shared his confusion. At Elrond’s suggestion their ponies had been left in Rivendell. There were places, they had been told, where the path had narrowed so far that even the most surefooted horses would be bound to struggle. Instead the Company had moved forward on foot, making far better time than they had before.

Clearly that was not going to last, Thorin though irritably. The sheeting rain was making the path slipperier by the second and it would only take one misstep to have them off the side of the cliff.

‘We’ll have to find shelter,’ he shouted of the noise of the wind. ‘We cannot continue like this.’

‘No,’ Gandalf agreed, ‘we cannot.’

‘Fíli, take your brother and find us somewhere to stop,’ Thorin called to his eldest nephew. Balin was at the head of the party, but Thorin thought the boys would have a better chance of keeping their feet. With some manoeuvring the boys managed to pass Balin and disappeared ahead. They had been gone only moments when they returned with word of an empty cave that could be used for shelter.

Thorin cursed, safe in the knowledge no one would hear him. It was to be Goblin-town again then. It was beyond foolish to hope that there would be anywhere else to hide from the weather.

While the Company entered the large cave blessing their luck, Thorin felt only foreboding. He found himself staring in hatred at that blasted smooth floor, knowing it would betray them soon enough.

‘Nobody sleeps,’ he commanded loudly enough to be heard around the room.

‘Thorin we’re cold and wet and we’ve an empty cave to wait in,’ Glóin complained. ‘Why should we not take what rest we can?’

‘I do not trust empty caves in the mountains,’ Thorin said bitterly. ‘Why is it empty unless nothing else wants to live here?’

‘I agree with Thorin,’ Gandalf interjected suddenly. Thorin was grateful to notice that all objections then seemed silenced. ‘Let us rest, yes, but if something does live in this cave and is merely away, let us not be caught off guard. Keep your packs and weapons with you.’

So rather than sleeping, the Company ate and then settled in to tell stories as the afternoon wore on. Thorin noticed that Bilbo had acquired a warm coat at some point and surmised that Dori had been busy while they were in Rivendell. Bilbo huddled into his coat and spent the afternoon in a state of wonder, hearing a great many tales he had never heard before or dwarven versions of those he already knew. If the elves came off the worse in a number of these stories, he chose to say nothing about it.

Then, an hour or so after the story-telling had subsided into quiet conversation and caring for their weapons, a crack began to appear in the floor.

‘On your guard,’ Thorin shouted, pointing frantically. It was a testament to their skill that all of the dwarves were armed and all their supplies were with them when they fell in a disorderly heap onto the floor of the goblin cave.

Thorin was on his feet in moments and two goblins died at Orcrist’s blade before they even realised that their prey had not been taken asleep and unarmed. Around him, Thorin could see that the Company was holding their own. Fíli and Nori had moved instinctively to guard the back of their pupil and Bilbo had killed one goblin of his own. For one, brief, moment Thorin thought all might be well.

Then the second wave came. Scurrying along the walls and up from below, they surrounded and utterly outnumbered the beleaguered dwarves. The Company fought on, but now the corpses of their enemies were hampering them, giving them less and less room to move in the cramped space. As, one by one, the Company were captured Thorin turned frantically to find Bilbo – only to see Bombur stumble back and knock their hobbit and his current foe over the edge of platform they were on.

‘Bilbo!’ several voices screamed in horror. But their burglar was gone.

 

««««««


	7. Change Is A Dangerous Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The more things change, the more they stay the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all comments and kudos - I love every one. This is the last fully written chapter so I imagine the next chapter will be up at the weekend. I hope you enjoy this installment.

 

Chapter Seven: Change Is A Dangerous Thing

Prodded and poked, snarling and growling, the remains of Thorin’s Company were dragged down winding paths towards the Great Goblin. An unlucky goblin or two fell foul of the Company’s efforts to get free. Every so often a squeal would sound in the dark as a goblin tumbled off the path into the caverns below. Thorin noted all this absently, most of his attention focused on his worry for Bilbo. The hobbit had come a long way from the frightened, slightly bumbling burglar that Thorin had known before, but that had been a long fall and there was no guarantee things would follow the same pattern. If Bilbo had landed the wrong way the fall might well have killed him.

Even the second time round, Thorin was surprised at the sheer bulk and ugliness of the Great Goblin. And also at his utterly ridiculous voice and idea of what constituted a song, but Thorin supposed he should not be too critical of his fellow monarch. Living in this place would surely drive anyone slightly mad. Even the stone here felt wrong after so many years inhabited by goblins. Thorin’s skin crawled and he saw other members of the Company, including Bofur and Bifur, both shuddering and shrugging their shoulders as if trying to rid themselves of an irritation.

‘Who dares to come armed into my kingdom?’ the Great Goblin squawked. ‘Spies? Thieves? Assassins?’

Let us play the game my way, this time, he thought and stepped forward.

‘We would hardly be wise to name ourselves such, would we?’ Thorin asked loudly, cutting off the goblin who had been speaking. ‘Nor do we make very likely thieves, spies and assassins given that it was your contraption that opened up and dropped us in here!’

‘Well, well,’ the Great Goblin said with exaggerated awe. ‘What have we here? A bold dwarf, by all accounts, and one who seems familiar. It is long since your people were in these parts Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain,’ then he cackled shrilly, ‘and longer still since you were king of anything at all. Another rules your kingdom now.’

‘Yes,’ Thorin said wryly, ‘himself and the inanimate pile of treasure – a fine kingdom Smaug rules to be sure.’

‘Cocky, aren’t you?’ the Great Goblin hissed, ‘considering that you are captive and with no way out.’ Thorin smiled grimly.

‘I would not say so,’ Thorin told him. ‘Not so arrogant as one who allows himself to be distracted by gloating and fails to notice that his captives include a wizard. Gandalf!’ He shouted the last and, as before, Gandalf’s blast of energy knocked the goblins flat.

The goblins, used to the dark as they were, found themselves blinded. Some few retained enough of their wits to crawl around trying to find their prisoners but most lay on the ground moaning and blinking their eyes uselessly. The Great Goblin had given an immense screech and fallen to the floor. Before any of them truly recovered Thorin was on his feet and he and Gandalf shouted in unison for the Company to run.

As before it took some effort to truly get free of the goblins. Their weapons had not been taken, so they were in a better position to begin the fight and they were quite a way from the Great Goblin’s throne by the time he had hauled his impressive bulk off the floor. However, they ran and fought for what seemed like forever, endlessly pursued. Thorin could only fight what foes he could reach and try to keep an eye on his Company as they followed Gandalf through the mountain.

Even as they ran and ran, Thorin was waiting for the Great Goblin to reappear. This time he had not even been knocked off his platform before they fled. He knew these passages better than they did, he was bound to follow them. When he did, thankfully, Gandalf proved as effective a fighter as he had before. Thorin could have done without the Great Goblin dropping on him from a great height, admittedly, but as long as they all got out alive he could hardly complain. They burst from the doors of the mountain into bright sunlight and after a little while they stopped. Many of them rested their hands upon their knees and panted from the exertion and the relief.

Except there was still one, major problem.

‘Bilbo! Gandalf, we have to go back for Bilbo!’

«««

Watching the panting, puffing dwarves on the mountainside, Bilbo was most surprised to hear his name being called so frantically. Certainly he had not expected the dwarves to simply leave him behind. He was one of their Company and only days before Thorin had made it quite clear that they were to stick together. However, a large part of him had expected them to treat him as a bit of a chore. For all of their claims to the contrary, after all, he had been of very little use to them so far.

Now, however, Thorin was not the only one who sounded frantic.

‘You knocked the poor thing straight off the edge, you clumsy fool,’ Dori berated Bombur. ‘What were you thinking?’

‘Dori, stop it!’ Ori snapped. ‘Bombur hardly did it on purpose. It’s a wonder more of us didn’t fall.’

Dori looked at his youngest brother with betrayal clear on his face. Then, suddenly, he shook himself firmly.

‘Of course he did not,’ Dori said far more quietly. ‘Bombur, I can do nothing but apologise.’

‘Don’t,’ Bombur said softly, ‘we are all worried and the worry makes us sharp-tongued, that is all. You said nothing I have not been saying to myself.’

At that point, Bilbo could not remain where he was any longer. Poor Bombur, as if any of this were his fault! Bilbo really just seemed to have the worst luck sometimes.

‘Nobody needs to be blaming anyone else,’ he announced, stepping out of hiding after removing the ring.

‘Oh, thank Mahal,’ Thorin gasped in relief. Taking three paces forward he pulled Bilbo into a fierce, and entirely unexpected, hug. ‘Do not scare us like that again.’

‘I’m sorry?’ Bilbo said, not entirely certain if he even wanted to apologise. ‘Though, it was not as if I did it on purpose.’

‘How did you even get out?’ Kíli asked him curiously, and the others began to clamour to know as well. All except Thorin, who was eyeing the trail they had just come down anxiously. Would Azog be coming? The Great Goblin had sent no word this time, true, but surely they had not been stuck inside the mountain that long last time. Azog could not have had time to receive a message before they emerged and he had found them anyway.

‘I, too, would like to know the tale,’ Thorin announced, though he suspected it was much the same as before. ‘I would rather do it when we are not so close to the mountains though. The daylight will not last forever.’

‘No, it will not,’ Gandalf said. ‘Come, let us move forward.’

‘I don’t suppose there could be food involved in this moving?’ Bilbo ventured tentatively. ‘Only it has been a very long time since breakfast.’

Immediately Bombur pulled two apples from his back and moved over to hand them to Bilbo.

‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured in his quiet voice. ‘Bilbo, I’m so sorry.’

‘Hush,’ Bilbo told him. ‘It was no more your fault than it was mine. I survived intact, it is as if it never happened. Besides I will have a very interesting tale for you all when we stop.’

«««

Unfortunately, some things will happen no matter what impediments are placed before them. One orc scout had escaped when the Company were rescued some days before. It had fled to its Master, much as it had later regretted doing so, and passed along its report. The dwarves had escaped. The scouting party had been set upon by elves and had been forced to flee.

From this tale Azog quickly drew his conclusions. The dwarves would have been taken to Rivendell by their rescuers. They would continue their journey across the mountains at some point and would, eventually, come out the other side if they did not suffer some other catastrophe on the way. Azog had waited long for his revenge. He gathered his scouts and his war party and he set out to the other side of the Misty Mountains safe in the knowledge that nothing in that region would dare stand in his way. On the other side, he would watch and he would wait.

So he had and in watching and waiting had heard the goblins at their back door, screeching in anger and despair at the escape of their captives and the death of their king. From the back door, it had taken very little for the wargs to find the scent of their prey. Azog’s time had come – he would have his revenge.

«««

For the second time, Thorin and his Company heard the howls of wargs. Staring back up the hill, Thorin was frozen for a moment as his hate tried to overtake him. He wanted to see the Defiler dead, oh how he wanted it! Now was not the time though, he knew it. They were fifteen against many orcs on their warg mounts, there was no way he could succeed. The past had shown him that much.

‘Uncle,’ Kíli cried, breaking him from his stupor. He turned to see the Company making their way into the trees. Quickly, he ran to the one that held Balin and began to climb.

‘Gandalf, they will not hold us,’ he called to the wizard. ‘Even if they do, the wargs will trap us here.’

‘Yes, Thorin,’ Gandalf called back in an irritated tone. ‘I am working on it.’

‘Work faster!’ Dori shouted, as a warg leapt and snapped and nearly pulled him from the branch. Swiftly the others pulled him higher up.

Then he was there. Azog, who had slain his family one by one. Who had killed his grandfather and driven his father mad with grief and stolen his boys from him. His own death he would blame on no one but himself. His madness had made him a fool and a dead fool in the end.

Azog, of course, called to him in his foul language and the assorted orcs cackled and jeered. Thorin gripped the branch tight and willed himself to stillness. His hatred must have been palpable for suddenly he felt a hand upon his arm. Glancing up he saw Balin, pointedly looking away from him.

‘It’s alright Balin,’ he whispered softly, ‘I will not go. He can wait for another day.’

‘You really do know much you aren’t telling us, don’t you?’ Balin asked, though he did not seem to wish for a reply. The hand squeezed once and then was gone.

Then, of course, because this time loved nothing more than repeating events Thorin would like never to live through again, the trees began to fall. There was no making the experience less terrifying than it had been previously. The fire blazing near so much wood was bad enough, but if Thorin never saw his friends dangling above such a drop again it would be too soon. When the eagles appeared Thorin could have wept with relief. Dori’s grip had begun to fail and Thorin could do nothing but stare in horror.

Unfortunately, looking behind distracted him from a problem before him. The fire had not burned as strongly as it had before. The extra rain might have made the bark harder to light, or perhaps they had not thrown as many pinecones as before. Either way, one brave or foolhardy warg had leapt over the flames; and made straight for their smallest target.

As Bilbo had pulled himself atop the trunk of the tree, doubtless from fear of falling, the warg had run forward and grabbed for him. All Thorin heard was a scream as Bilbo was seized in the strong jaws of the warg and shaken viciously. When the warg dropped him he lay still. Thorin could not tell if he still breathed.

Bifur, the closest of all the Company, struck at the warg three times with his spear until he was sure it was dead. An eagle grabbed Bilbo and carried him away and a moment later Thorin, too, was taken up and tossed onto the back of another eagle. No matter how he tried he could not see Bilbo and he was too far from any of the others to ask if they could see any further.

When they were dropped upon the Carrock, Thorin was not the only one to run straight to their burglar. Soon the whole Company was gathered round, Óin examining him carefully to try and assess the damage.

Long moments passed, then Óin looked back to them and Thorin felt sick at the fear on his face.

‘Thorin, he is very badly wounded,’ the healer told him. ‘He had no protection against the warg’s teeth and he is so very small. I do not know how much I can do.’

‘Let me see him,’ Gandalf cried, crouching down next to Bilbo swiftly. He laid his hand atop the worst of Bilbo’s visible wounds and murmured softly in what seemed to be one of the languages of the elves. After some moments he stopped.

‘I have done what I can,’ Gandalf told the assembled Company, ‘but Óin is right. Bilbo is very badly hurt. We must get him to shelter and try what we can. There is someone who might help us, but he lives a way from here still.’

‘Then we carry him,’ Bombur said with more firmness than they had ever heard from him.

‘We’ll have to do it carefully,’ Oin said. ‘If he’s jolted too badly and something in there is broken it will be worse than if we had left him still.’

‘Nothing truly dangerous is broken,’ Gandalf stated. ‘That much I can tell you, but he is bleeding faster than I would like and his head has been jolted around badly. It worries me that he does not wake.’

Thorin pulled off his coat and lifted Bilbo into it as carefully as he could, closing it around the small form. Then he began to lift Bilbo into his arms only to be stopped by Dori.

‘Let me do it,’ Dori told him respectfully. ‘If something comes upon us I’ll be better carrying him than fighting.’

Much as he hated to relinquish the responsibility (for this was his fault somehow, he knew it), he let Dori take Bilbo from him. They might well need to fight, depending what was down there, and Dori was stronger than he was in any case.

‘I’ll take him if Dori needs help,’ Bofur said then. As they all turned to look queryingly at him, he shrugged.

‘Miner,’ he told them briefly. ‘I’m stronger than I look.’

«««

They walked quickly for several hours, rarely stopping and eating on the move. When the time had come to stop for the evening, the Company had exchanged a series of looks and then continued on without speaking a word. Their burglar needed aid. There would be time for sleep once he was safe.

Thorin was so focused on putting one foot in front of the other that he barely noticed when they crossed into Beorn’s lands. He could not escape the feeling that, somehow, Bilbo’s injury was a punishment for avoiding the wounds he had gained at Azog’s hands in his previous life. It was ridiculous, he knew that. Certain events replayed themselves and if they didn’t other dangers took their place. That was just the way it went. Yet, as he was walking he could see Bilbo lying so still on the floor and nothing would remove the image from his mind.

Finally, Gandalf signalled for them to stop. The others drew up in a tight knot, with Dori taking Bilbo straight to Óin to be checked. There had been little change but it was still a comfort to know that their hobbit was no worse.

‘The home of the one who may help us is not far ahead. I do not like to bring you all to him at once…’

‘We’re not leaving Bilbo!’ Kíli announced stridently. ‘If you are going to take him to someone who _may or may not_ help us then we all go with him. Who would protect him otherwise?’

‘I am perfectly capable of protecting him myself, if it comes to that,’ Gandalf said irritably. He was also very worried about Bilbo and wished the dwarves would decide whether they were going to believe that he could solve all of their problems or none of them at all. ‘I do not think it will though. Bilbo he will doubtless be happy to take in. It is the rest of you I am concerned about. He is not a man to be trifled with, he can be truly appalling when angry.’

‘We will be as well behaved as it is possible for us to be,’ Fíli told Gandalf solemnly.

‘Yes,’ Gandalf replied, ‘that is rather what I am afraid of. Well, come along then, all of you together it will be, Maker help us.’

As they got closer to Beorn’s house Thorin noticed several of the horses eyeing them very carefully and then cantering back towards the house to take news of their arrival. Hopefully, Beorn really would not mind so many visitors at once.

Then, as they got closer to the house the figure of the huge skin-changer could clearly be seen, standing before his house with axe in hand. A number of the dwarves tensed up and hands strayed towards their weapons.

‘Stop it,’ Thorin heard Balin command them. ‘How would you like it if a party of men or elves turned up at your door all with their hands on their weapons? This is his home not ours.’

Guiltily, the dwarves pulled their hands away again but none of them looked particularly relaxed. Thorin could not blame them. Beorn could fling them about like chess pieces if he truly wished to and his unpredictability made Thorin very nervous indeed.

‘Who are you?’ Beorn called in his deep voice. ‘Why do you come here?’

‘I am Gandalf,’ Gandalf introduced himself.

‘Which means nothing to me and tells me very little,’ Beorn stated. ‘Who are they?’

‘We are dwarves of Durin’s folk,’ Thorin told him, ‘but more than that we are very worried friends. Our companion was badly hurt by wargs and he does not wake. We had hoped for a place where we could try to treat him.’

‘Concern for friends, at least, I can understand,’ Beorn said slowly. ‘What was he doing near wargs though?’

Peering at Bilbo, who Dori was holding very tightly and hunching over protectively, Beorn thought for a moment then continued without receiving an answer to his question.

‘He does not look well at all,’ Beorn said abruptly, ‘You had best bring him inside.’

That was half of the battle won, at least, Thorin thought in relief. Now if they could only get Bilbo to wake up he would say things were well.

«««

Inside, Dori quickly lay Bilbo on one of the huge wooden benches which ran through the main room of Beorn’s home. Óin pulled out his healing herbs and ointments and removed Thorin’s coat, which was now rather soaked with Bilbo’s blood, and Bilbo’s own clothes which were even worse.

‘I’ll need water,’ Óin commanded them. ‘Boys, see if the master of this house will show you where to get it. Dori get out your sewing kit. If he will not stop bleeding I will have to seal the wounds myself. The rest of you get yourselves out of the way.’

Thankfully Beorn’s horse and dog friends were ahead of the dwarves. Bowls of hot water and cloths began to appear and Beorn appeared holding a jar in hand.

‘This will clean his wounds,’ he told Óin gruffly, ‘Use as much as you need, more can be made easily enough.’

‘Thank you,’ Óin took the time to say respectfully, then turned and once again forgot everything except his patient.

The next hour passed quickly, but finally Óin could do no more. Time would do its work now, he informed them, and they would have to wait.

Beorn, who had been remarkably patient up to this point considering the sheer number of dwarves in his home, proclaimed firmly that it was time they told him who exactly they were and how they had come here and, most especially, what their companion had been doing near wargs.

So Balin, at Thorin’s signal, told their tale as plainly as possible with Gandalf contributing his own comments as the story unfolded. When it was finished Beorn growled low in his throat for a moment.

‘Were I to check, then,’ he asked at length, ‘I would find that the Great Goblin was dead and that Azog had invaded my side of the Mountains?’

‘You would,’ Thorin told him. ‘We tell you the truth as we know it.’

‘Good that the goblin is dead,' the skinchanger responded. 'Such filth should never have been allowed to fester in the Mountains. I have no great fondness for dwarves but I like goblins even less. You will be welcome here. As for this Azog – him I will see for myself.’

Though no one had noticed, during Balin’s tale Bilbo had begun to shift on the blankets he had been laid upon near the fire. Now, as his mind struggled its way back to consciousness, he let out a little moan of pain. It was the first noise that they had heard from him since he was injured and the dwarves quickly hurried over.

‘Come on, lad,’ Óin told their hobbit firmly, ‘you’ve slept quite long enough and given us all a scare into the bargain. Wake up, now.’

Ori had sat next to Bilbo and taken hold of his hand, running his finger in ticklish patterns that made Bilbo twitch his hand to try and get away. It took some minutes, and a great deal of effort on Bilbo’s part, but soon his eyes were open. As soon as they were, unfortunately, he regretted it dearly. Rolling quickly away from Ori he was violently sick on the floor.

‘Ah,’ Óin said slowly, ‘I was afraid that might happen.’

‘That isn’t a good sign, is it?’ Bofur asked worriedly. All of the dwarves had seen their fellows injured from time to time and sickness was always considered concerning.

‘It is not so bad as if he had not woken at all,’ Óin told them firmly. ‘If it continues we might need to get Gandalf to have another look at him but most likely it will pass. I imagine we’d all feel fairly sick if we’d been shaken like ragdolls as well.’

Bilbo gave a slight moan of discomfort but did not seem likely to be sick again. He lay back looking up at them with a frown for a moment, then asked,

‘Where are we?’

‘We are at the house of a person called Beorn, where we are perfectly safe,’ Balin assured Bilbo quickly. ‘You just focus on getting better, let us worry about the rest.’

‘I don’t think I could do otherwise,’ Bilbo replied. ‘I don’t feel well at all.’

‘It will pass, lad,’ Óin told him with more gentleness than was his wont. ‘Your body’s had a bit of a shock, it will take a day or two to settle again.’

‘Is there anything to eat?’ Bilbo asked and as if by magic one of the sheep appeared with a bowl of porridge for him to try.

‘Slowly,’ Óin cautioned, ‘it’s no good if you make yourself sick again.’

Once Bilbo had eaten this he seemed happy to go back to sleep but Óin would not let him, saying that he wanted to be sure that the worst had passed before Bilbo rested. Instead, the dwarves all went to have dinner and left Thorin sat with Bilbo, who he wished to speak to.

‘I am sorry,’ was the first thing Thorin said. ‘I did not protect you as I should protect a member of this Company. This is twice in as many days that you have been harmed because we were not careful enough.’

‘Nonsense,’ Bilbo said as firmly as he could. ‘That warg was on me so quickly I didn’t even have time to blink, let alone call for help, and you were all rather busy being hung over a large drop at the time.’

‘Nevertheless, you have been harmed on my watch,’ Thorin told him, ‘and I must try to make amends as you would wish.’

Here Bilbo was quiet for a long time. Thorin had begun to worry that the hobbit had fallen asleep with his eyes open, and that Óin would be furious with him for allowing it, when Bilbo spoke again.

‘If I said that the amends I wished for were to return home, what would you say?’ he asked so quietly Thorin could barely hear him.

Thorin was startled despite having thought of this possibility himself. If they could not keep Bilbo safe from goblins and wargs, what hope would they have against Smaug? Perhaps it would be better to send him back. Unfortunately, there was one rather large problem.

‘I would say that I would do so willingly, if you truly wished it,’ Thorin began, ‘but I fear I would not be able to. You have seen how dangerous the paths across the Misty Mountains are and now there are orcs behind us as well. I can spare no one to go with you and I cannot send you alone. I fear there is simply no way it can be done. Unless perhaps Gandalf were to agree to take you.’ Thorin knew that this, too, was unlikely however. Gandalf would soon be leaving them for whatever task he had accomplished while the Company were in Mirkwood. The chances he would alter his path to take Bilbo West again were extremely slim.

‘I could ask Beorn to let you stay here,’ Thorin continued. ‘He seems kind enough in his way.’

‘I wonder if it would be best,’ Bilbo said. ‘You have many more dangers to face, I am sure, and I do seem to have a terrible habit of getting myself lost and injured.’

Thorin felt himself sag slightly with relief. If Bilbo was worried about hampering the Company then Thorin could allow himself to argue and try to change Bilbo’s mind. Had the hobbit been concerned for his own safety, duty would have obliged Thorin to find a place he could safely stay and leave their hobbit behind.

‘You have done neither any more often than any of the rest of the Company,’ Thorin maintained firmly. ‘We were all caught by the trolls together, as we were all caught by the goblins together. Your injury now was no more than mischance. It could just as easily have been Bifur who was seized, for he was right next to you.’

‘Bifur would have reached his weapon before he was shaken like a rat,’ Bilbo argued. He had not noticed the way that his voice and Thorin’s had risen, or that the rest of the Company had fallen silent and were listening carefully.

Bifur, determined to have his say for once, rose from the bench he had been sitting on and marched over to where Bilbo lay. Making several noises which made his disapproval quite clear, he signed swiftly to Thorin what he wished to say to Bilbo.

‘Bifur commands me to tell you,’ Thorin said, not without a little amusement, ‘that he did not manage to get hold of his spear until the warg was already shaking you. Apparently, not being as…’ Thorin paused for Bifur to repeat the sign, ‘ah, not being as nimble as a hobbit he was still dangling in mid-air when you were caught.’

‘Oh,’ Bilbo said, not having expected the discussion to become so public. ‘Well, I suppose he would know.’ He wasn’t quite sure what to say, truthfully. Yet again, he had underestimated how fully the dwarves had taken him in as one of their own.

‘Let me make it as plain as I can,’ Thorin told Bilbo. ‘If you wish not to come the rest of the way with us then you need not. We will find some way or another for you to stay somewhere until I can arrange to have you escorted home. If you do wish to come with us then we will all be most relieved. You are our friend, Bilbo, we have no desire for you to leave us now.’

Bilbo glanced at the rest of the group to see if they shared their leader’s opinions. Several of them spoke at once.

‘What a waste of all that training if you leave now,’ Nori announced.

‘You can’t leave, Bilbo, who will tell us stories when we’re bored,’ that, unsurprisingly, was Kíli.

‘Ori and I are outnumbered enough as it is, laddie,’ Balin pointed out, ‘we need you to balance things out.’

‘Anyone who can scold a wizard so completely is someone I want with me,’ was Dwalin’s contribution.

‘You’re part of the Company,’ Bofur argued, ‘you can’t leave now!’

The rest contented themselves with nodding or making some noise of agreement. Bilbo seemed overwhelmed for a moment, but then recovered himself.

‘Very well, then,’ he said still sounding a bit stunned. ‘I will come with you. I don’t think I’ll be able to travel very far very fast though.’

‘The little one may stay here until he is recovered,’ Beorn informed them from the fireplace, where he had been entertained to find himself very much forgotten. ‘As the rest of you seem to come along with him, I suppose you may stay as well.’

He was even more entertained to have twelve dwarves bow to him simultaneously. Thorin decided he would look ridiculous bowing from where he was on the floor and so did not join in.

‘Now,’ Beorn announced, ‘it is time for you to be asleep, and for me to be about. Do not leave this house during the night. You will be perfectly safe here and very unsafe anywhere else. I will see you again in the morning.’

With that he was gone. The dwarves stood in confusion for a moment, all other than Thorin bemused by Beorn’s statement, then decided that rest sounded very good indeed. Óin told Bilbo that if he was well enough to argue he would be allowed to sleep and soon the house was silent save for dwarven snoring.

«««

When Beorn returned the next morning, in time for a breakfast which made the dwarves and Bilbo very happy indeed, he gruffly informed them that he had discovered the truth of their tale during the night. The goblins were still in general disarray and seemed to have reverted to squabbling among themselves inside their mountain over who should lead. The pale orc he had not seen, but there were definitely orcs about and he had chased them off as well as he could.

This said, he turned to Thorin, deciding the time for further questions had arrived.

‘What do you intend to do now, then?’ he asked bluntly. ‘You are being hunted and your pursuers will catch your scent soon enough. If you mean to make it to your mountain you will have to go through Mirkwood.’

‘That was our plan,’ Thorin responded, ‘though I know it is a dangerous one. I need to speak to King Thranduil, if I can, before we go any further on our way.’

‘Thranduil,’ Beorn said consideringly. ‘Thranduil does not look beyond the borders of his kingdom and has not for many a year.’

‘So I am led to believe,’ Thorin told him. ‘Do you know of any way that he can be contacted? I have never visited his kingdom and would have no idea where to find him.’

‘Thranduil has no interest in me, nor I in him,’ Beorn stated firmly. ‘I enter his forest rarely and we have no dealings with one another. If you were hoping for directions you will not get them here and if he does not wish you to find his stronghold then it will not be found.’

A muted noise was heard and Thorin turned to see Balin had his hand clapped firmly across his brother’s mouth. Thorin raised an eyebrow in question and received a blank, innocent face from Balin in return. Rolling his eyes slightly, Thorin left the brothers to their quarrel.

‘The forest is dark now,’ Beorn continued, unconcerned. ‘It does not like travellers and it is full of wild, savage creatures that do harm where they can and cannot be eaten. You may find water outside but not within. The only river that runs near the path is poisoned with enchantment. Do not enter it if you wish to retain your wits and your memory. Above all, do not leave the path!’

His voiced raised at the last phrase and more than one dwarf jumped. Bilbo wavered slightly on the bench and was swiftly supported by Dori on one side and Ori on the other. Glóin glared sourly at their host, milk dripping down his beard, until Óin’s elbow found its way into his side. After that he turned his glare upon the offending cup of milk.

‘Upon the path you may not have a pleasant journey but you should be safe. Stray from it and I very much doubt you will come out the other end alive.’

Thorin nodded his understanding and turned to ensure his Company had heeded the warning. Their solemn faces and close attention told him they had.

‘We thank you for the warning,’ he said respectfully to Beorn, ‘and for the shelter we have been given.’

‘Two last things I can give you,’ Beorn said in turn. ‘Gifts for those who have slain the Great Goblin. My friends will prepare supplies that will see you through Mirkwood, if you are careful, and I will ask some of the ponies and a horse to bear you as far as the gate of the forest. Then I must ask you to send them back, for I would not have them risk their lives in that place.’

‘Nor would we ask them to,’ Thorin said. ‘I can only thank you again.’ He paused for a moment before speaking again, before deciding that he had to try despite the possibility of failure.

‘Master Beorn,’ he began, ‘I expect those orcs and more to follow my Company as far as Erebor if they must. Azog has been determined so far and I believe he will not give up easily. If they come in force will you be able to protect your friends?’

Gandalf winced at the unintended insult. To suggest that the skinchanger would not be able to protect those under his care was a dangerous business.

‘You ask something many others would dare not,’ Beorn said in his slow, lilting voice. ‘I would know why you ask it.’

‘You have given us a great deal here,’ Thorin answered equally slowly, stepping as carefully as he was able, ‘and in return we may well lead orcs to your door. It is a poor guest who takes aid and leaves trouble behind. There is little I could probably do but that should not stop me from asking.’

‘Then it is well,’ Beorn told him. ‘No orc has ever survived venturing onto these lands. None will do so now.’

With that Beorn seemed to consider the conversation done.

They remained in his house for two more days, resting while Bilbo healed. All signs of the sickness and tiredness had long since faded and the teeth marks and bruises which had marred his skin seemed to heal faster under the influence of the lotion Beorn had given Óin. Even so, Óin would not take Bilbo into Mirkwood until he was sure the wounds were closing.

‘There’s enough sickness in that wood,’ he proclaimed firmly when Glóin began to worry out loud about the approach of Durin’s Day. ‘We’ll be slower than ever if any of it gets into one of these cuts. Be patient for once in your life.’

Thorin, too, had considered the time they had left before Durin’s Day arrived, but he had not allowed it to worry him. Last time they had spent weeks in Thranduil’s dungeons. If all went well they would not do so this time and would have plenty of time remaining.

Only one other event of note occurred before they left Beorn’s home for good. Gandalf, as Thorin had expected, approached him on the evening of their last day and informed Thorin he would be leaving them at the forest gate.

‘If I asked you what you go to do, would you tell me?’ Thorin asked him wearily.

Gandalf seemed slightly taken aback. He had expected more objections and fewer questions and wasn’t sure what this weary acceptance signified.

‘I do not need to explain my business to you, surely?’ Gandalf asked him. ‘I never said that I was coming all the way with you and so I am not. This is not my quest.’

‘Yet, you were the one who spoke first of the dangers the dragon posed to Middle Earth,’ Thorin said, (untruthfully, in fact, as he had spoken of such dangers to Dis, Balin and Dwalin before he and Gandalf talked about them). ‘You never said that you would not come with us all the way either. Tell me, Gandalf, had I announced I was leaving the Company for some time to go somewhere and would tell you neither where nor why, would you have allowed me to do so without explanation?’

Here, Gandalf was stumped. He could not, in fact, say that because it would be completely untrue. Being a wizard he was used to coming and going as he pleased and it had been a long time since he had thought to explain himself to anyone. Now he pondered for a moment whether any harm could come from telling the dwarves. It did not seem that there could be any, so perhaps he would give Thorin his explanation this once.

‘I go to explore Dol Guldur,’ he told Thorin. ‘The rumours about the necromancer in those lands are spreading and I fear his magic may be part of the illness that ails the forest. That is all I will say on the matter.’

‘I would expect no more,’ Thorin wisely chose to say. ‘We have been glad of your companionship so far, Gandalf,’ he was mindful that the wizard had saved them from the goblins, had helped protect them from the wargs and had brought them to Beorn’s home, ‘if you choose to rejoin us later we would be very happy to see you.’

‘Hmph,’ Gandalf said, mollified. ‘Perhaps I shall do that, then. If I can, for I know not how long this business may take.’

They did not speak of it again and in the morning they said their goodbyes to Beorn and were on their way.

««««««


	8. Losing The Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo has a tale to tell in Mirkwood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and kudos. Hopefully those of you who were disappointed not see Bilbo's POV will forgive me now!

Chapter Eight: Losing The Way

Thorin hated Mirkwood. Utterly and completely and without any remorse. The entire cursed forest was trying to kill his Company and he was not in the slightest bit amused. If it would not get their creator in trouble with his wife (and also kill a great many innocent elves and wild animals) he would set fire to the whole thing and laugh as it burned. As he thought this, the forest decided to take its revenge. He tripped over a tree root and nearly ended flat on his face.

‘You lift them up,’ Dwalin said from behind him. When Thorin turned to look at him without comprehension, he expanded, ‘Your feet. You lift them up and then put them down one after another. We call it walking.’

‘Oh, shut up!’ Thorin found himself saying. He really needed to come up with a better rejoinder sometime during this journey. When the forest wasn’t trying to kill him.

‘I don’t like this place,’ Ori said quietly, though the area was so quiet it could be heard easily. ‘How can anything live like this?’

Bifur used his usual combination of Khuzdul and Iglishmêk to respond and Bofur translated. By this point it was instinct to repeat everything said so that all of the Company understood Bifur.

‘You get used to everything in time, Ori. Most of the creatures that live here know nothing else – to them it just is as it is.’

‘It’s so dark,’ Kíli said then. ‘Not like a cave though. That dark is natural, this is just… wrong.’

‘The forest is sick,’ Bilbo added in. ‘Something is… poisoning it. I don’t know what I even mean but forests don’t just become like this.’

‘It will do us no good to dwell on it,’ Balin said. ‘If quiet is the problem we will just have to add a little noise. Not too much though.’

‘Bilbo owes us a story,’ Bombur contributed. ‘He said he would have quite the tale to tell but we haven’t heard it yet.’

‘So I did,’ Bilbo responded. ‘I suppose I could tell it now.’

‘Let us stop and listen,’ Thorin suggested now. ‘A good tale deserves proper attention and we could all do with a break. We are on the path, we should be safe enough.’

The Company seemed happy enough to agree and soon they were all seated close to Bilbo, listening attentively. If they looked rather like a group of hobbit faunts sitting at their parents’ feet waiting for a bedtime story, Bilbo was not going to be the one to tell them so. The hobbit thought for a moment about how best to begin his story, then proceeded.

‘My tale is a good one for such a place as this,’ Bilbo started. ‘For as this forest is sick, so was the one I met under the mountain. To speak of him, however, would be to start the tale in the middle rather than the beginning,’ here he looked up and smiled at his listeners, ‘and so to the beginning I shall go.’

‘I was, as you can imagine, rather surprised to find myself tumbling down into the bottom of the mountain. One moment I was trying to stop a particularly ugly goblin from trying to bite my nose off, or whatever he was attempting to do, the next I was lying on a particularly uncomfortable rock. My first worry was that I might have lost my sword but luckily it lay next to me on the ground. I had managed to keep hold of it almost until I landed I think.’

‘Good training,’ Nori murmured and the rest of the Company either groaned or laughed.

‘Good training, indeed,’ Bilbo told him. ‘Better than a goblin’s at any rate. We must have regained our senses around the same time, the goblin and I, but when he jumped at me to try and finish the job of killing me he realised that he did not have his sword. I did. He found that out when he managed to impale himself on it.’

Kíli gave a small whoop of triumph and Fíli smiled proudly.

‘Shhhh,’ Ori scolded them. ‘Let Bilbo tell the story.’

Bilbo was smiling broadly now. There was little their hobbit liked better than telling stories and now he had a captive audience who had no idea of the twists to come.

‘So, the goblin had neatly got rid of himself but of course there was still one problem. I did not know how to get out, or even if there was a way out so far down. I stayed in the passage for quite a while trying to decide if I would be able to climb back up and find you, but the walls were very steep and very tall and I am not a goblin so I did not think I would manage it. In the end, I decided there was nothing for it but to follow the passage to wherever it led and hope I would find a way out.

‘I was creeping along, as quiet as a mouse, trying not to be heard by anything that might want to eat me when I heard the strangest noise…’

Here, Bilbo paused for effect. Ori was tilted so far towards Bilbo, straining to hear every word, that the top half of his body was nearly parallel to the floor. Fíli and Kíli had inched closer as he spoke and Dwalin did not look amused to have Kíli sitting nearly in his lap. This, Bilbo thought, was more fun than he had thought it would be.

‘I heard,’ he said slowly, ‘singing.’

‘Oh Mahal, please tell me you couldn’t hear that maniac goblin and his terrible music all the way down there,’ Balin burst out.

‘Balin!’ Four exasperated voices burst out. Ori, Fíli and Kíli he had expected. His brother was more of a surprise.

‘Let the hobbit finish his story,’ Dwalin growled, trying to look as if he wasn’t hooked on Bilbo’s line like the younger members of the party. Balin did not even pretend to believe him.

‘It was no goblin that I heard,’ Bilbo said. ‘I might have thought it was but no goblin could have known that song. It was an old song I had heard every year of my life, sat in the Shire as the Mummers began to make their rounds again. I had never heard any but a hobbit sing it, but how could any hobbit be living in so foul a place?’

Thorin felt his face creasing into an expression of confusion. This was not the story that Bilbo had told them before. Something else must have changed and now he was as intrigued as the others to find out what had happened.

‘As I crept closer, listening to the singing, I realised that the singer only seemed to know part of the words. Every so often he (for I was sure it must be a he) paused in his singing for a few moments and began at the beginning again. Every time he stopped he made a little noise in his throat. It was very high-pitched but it sounded like the noise one of my cousins used to make right before he threw a tantrum that shook the halls of the Great Smials.

‘I was close enough to see into the cave the singing was coming from now… and what I saw was the oddest sight I have ever yet come across. The creature who was singing sat on the edge of a small lake in the middle of the mountains. He was so thin he was really no more than a skeleton, with his head seeming twice the size of his body. He had a few stringy bits of hair still clinging to this head, but any colour had long since leeched from them. His skin, too, seemed more grey than anything else. The strangest thing of all though…’

Bilbo couldn’t help himself. He knew he should stop pausing like this, dragging the story out far more than it needed to be. Really, he should tell it quickly so they could move on through Mirkwood and try to find King Thranduil. Bilbo knew that he wouldn’t though. Some tales deserved to be told exactly the way they wanted to be, no matter what else was happening.

‘The very strangest thing,’ Bilbo continued, ‘was that his feet looked very much like mine. So did his ears. Combine that with the song and I realised that, somehow, this creature had once been a hobbit. There was no other explanation.’

‘How would anyone as happy as your folk end up living in a goblin-infested mountain?’ Bofur asked, but Bilbo ignored him and kept talking as if he had not spoken.

‘Just after I realised what I was seeing, the creature stopped his singing again. He had been patting his hands on the surface of the water in time with his tune, but now he smacked them into the water in frustration,’ Bilbo smacked his own hands onto the floor and made Glóin jump and reach for his axe. Óin very carefully reached over and took it from him.

‘I’ll be keeping that, I think, Brother,’ he told Glóin. ‘We’ve quite enough injuries in this Company without you getting carried away.’

The rest of the Company politely pretended not to notice and Bilbo took up his thread once more.

‘I don’t know why I did it. It didn’t make sense and most likely I should just have kept on looking for a way out. Somehow, though, it seemed right. I sang the rest of the lines from that verse for him.

‘ _And tie a ribbon on those sheltering arms,_

_In the springtime of the year_

_The songs of birds seem to fill the wood_

_And when the fiddler plays_

_All their voices can be heard_

_Long past their woodland days.’_

Bilbo sang the lines softly and the dwarves sat entranced. None of them had ever heard this song before and it seemed right that they did not know it, for there was something unearthly about the scene Bilbo was describing that did not fit with dwarven songs at all.

‘I regretted singing almost immediately,’ Bilbo told them. ‘The creature spun round to face me and it was faster than any hobbit I’ve ever seen. I knew then, as I looked at him, that despite how thin he was this creature could leap across and strangle me without my having any chance to save myself.’

Despite the fact that Bilbo was sat right in front of him, Thorin felt a chill go down his spine. How close had Bilbo been to death when he had faced this creature both times? There was nothing so dangerous as madness, Thorin knew, and Gollum had been mad indeed from what little Thorin knew of him.

‘Just when I was certain he would do so, he stopped still and stared at me with the largest, bluest eyes I’d ever seen. He stared for nearly a minute and I felt as if I could not move. Then he cocked his head to one side and said, “It knows grandmother’s songs.”

‘I’d never been so surprised in my life. This creature had had a grandmother. One never thinks of the curiosities in tales having family, especially not grandmothers, but that was what he had said.

“I do,” I replied. “It is a hobbit song and I am a hobbit.”

“Hobbit,” he said oddly, “We don’t have hobbitses down here. Goblins and orcses and blind little fishes but no hobbitses.”

“I am not surprised,” I told him. “Hobbits like the sun, and grass in the meadows, and flowers in their gardens and we would find none of these things down here.”

‘The creature made a hissing sound then, like a cat that has just had its tail trodden on. I almost wanted to laugh at the noise but I thought perhaps I had best be a bit more careful so I did not.

“Nasty sun,” he snarled, “burns us and watches us and hurts our eyes, it does.”

“I am sorry to hear it,” I responded, “I would not like to be forced inside to escape the sun.”

‘For a moment the creature's face had been twisted and dark as he cursed the sun, but now his face cleared again and he smiled. It was a terrifying smile – wide and with only nine teeth, each of which seemed as if they had been sharpened into points – but he clearly did not mean it to be terrifying. In fact, he looked almost happy.

“Nice hobbit,” he said, still smiling. “Does hobbit know more of grandmother’s songs?”

“I don’t know,” I was forced to say. “It will probably depend on where your grandmother came from.”

‘He looked perplexed by this question and he sat for a while as if he was thinking very hard.

“There was rivers,” he told me at last, “rivers with lots of nice fish for catching and eating, and lying in boats and sleeping. Sméagol likes the rivers.”

“Is that your name?” I asked him, and this question seemed to confuse him as well for a moment. “Yes,” he said after a moment, with far more certainty than I had expected. “Sméagol was our name.”

“Oh,” I said, confused about his use of the past tense. “Well, it sounds as if you and your grandmother were Stoors, for if you had been anything else you would not have liked the water at all.”

“Hobbit doesn’t like water?” he queried, and I told him I did not because I was very bad at swimming and would probably drown.

“We not drown,” he responded cheerfully. “We is very good at swimming.”

“Well that’s probably a good thing,” I answered, “for you would be living in the wrong place if you weren’t.”

‘I nodded to the lake and he turned and splashed his hands happily on the water again, humming the tune of the song he had been singing. This entertained him for a half a minute or so and then he turned back to with another wide grin.

“Hobbit should sing with us,” he said firmly. “We sings to the precious but it doesn’t like singing and we can’t make precious angry.”’

Bilbo’s audience had been silent for a very long time by dwarf standards, so he was not particularly surprised to be interrupted now.

‘What on earth is the precious?’ Dori asked in bewilderment. ‘Was this creature quite mad?’

‘Oh he was,’ Bilbo answered. ‘Wholly mad, but that will all be explained very soon.’

Dori subsided and after some shuffling, particularly from poor Ori whose back was starting to ache from the way he had been sat, Bilbo was able to continue.

‘Sméagol was gesturing me over towards the lake,’ Bilbo recounted, ‘and I did not want to seem rude so I went over to sit with him.’

Dwalin snorted and shook his head in amazement, and he gave Thorin the same look he always did when Balin insisted on being polite to someone who they knew very well was muttering vicious comments about dispossessed kings as soon as their back was turned. Thorin nodded in response, shrugging his shoulders. Some people really were just too polite.

‘Sméagol seemed quite happy with his humming and splashing so I sat quietly just listening. Eventually I realised I recognised this new tune as well, so I began to sing along. He seemed pleased with this and we got all the way to the end of the song, me singing and Sméagol tapping the water to keep time. When we had finished Sméagol turned to me, quite out of the blue and announced,

“Hobbit is lost.”

“Yes,” I said, a little surprised that he seemed finally to have noticed. “I am lost. I was with my friends and we are separated now so I do not know how to get out.”

“Friends?” he asked me. “What is friends?”

‘I wasn’t quite sure what to say. I have met people who do not have many friends before, I’m not sure Lobelia Sackville-Baggins has any left at all, but I had never come across anyone who did not even know what a friend was.

“Friends are… are…,” I stuttered. “Well they’re people who you like to spend time with. People who keep you company when you are bored, who eat meals with you and who you talk to when you just want to talk for a while without having to as polite as you would normally be.”

‘I did not understand why, but as I had been saying all of this Sméagol’s face had been darkening. He seemed angry about something, though I did not know what, and as I worried that he might get more so, I stopped talking.

“Precious!” he said loudly, “Friends is like precious. Always there, always, always and then gone. They leaves us!”

‘By the time he got to the end of this sentence he was nearly shouting and I was very alarmed. I did not know who precious was but clearly they had made Sméagol very angry.

“Sméagol, did someone, a person, did they _leave_ you down here?”

“No, no, no,” he said shaking his head in irritation. “We don’t likes people and people not like us. Drove us away, kicked us and shouted at us. Nasty, horrible people, we hates them.”

“Alright, alright,” I said, trying to calm him. “There’s no need to be angry.”

“Precious leaves us,” he said again, but this time he sounded very sad. “Why does it leave us?”

‘He seemed to expect me to answer him and of course I could not. I did not even know what this precious was.

“I don’t know,” I responded. “Maybe precious didn’t leave you. Maybe precious is just lost.”

“Lost,” he said incredulously, as if the idea had never occurred to him before. “Precious is lost. But we looked, we looked everywhere.”

‘He made the most bizarre noise then,’ Bilbo told them. ‘It sounded as if he was trying to clear his throat but could not manage. _Gollum, gollum_ , he went and suddenly his eyes were crafty.

“Hobbit could look for precious,” he said to me trying, I thought, to sound innocent. “Hobbit could look and when it finds precious we will help it gets out.”

“How could I help you find precious?” I asked him, feeling a little exasperated. “I wouldn’t even know what I was looking for. Couldn’t you show me the way out and then look for precious again? You _are_ the only one who knows what precious looks like.”

‘Sméagol considered this for a long time and as he thought the hard, crafty look I so disliked faded. Finally he nodded.

“Sméagol will show hobbit way out,” he told me. “Precious will come back soon.”

‘I was still as bewildered as I had been all along, but Sméagol had promised to show me the way out and that was all that was important. He led me out of his cave and began to take me down such a number of twisting, turning passages that I knew I would never remember my way back again. We walked and walked and walked and every so often he would say something like, “Must be quiet, goblinses come here,” or “Nearly there, nearly there”.

‘It felt as if we walked for hours, but I know it cannot have been. I could tell we were getting close because I could feel the faint hint of a breeze coming from the direction we were walking towards. I was thinking of how strange all of this had been, and how on earth I was to find you again, when suddenly I saw it. On the ground, right in front of me, was a gold ring.

‘I looked at Sméagol first. He was in front of me and had walked straight past it, so I thought perhaps I was imagining things. But when I looked down it was still there. I reached down to pick it up and just as I straightened Sméagol turned towards me.

“Precious,” he shouted joyfully, and for one moment I thought I would be able to give it back to him and all would be well. It would not be, though. In an instant his face became a snarling mask, his lips curled back from his gums.

“It’s ours,” he growled at me. “Gives it back.”

‘I confess I was so taken aback I started to reach my hand out towards him, but just as I did so he leaped at me as I had been afraid he would do earlier. He knocked me backwards onto the floor and his precious dropped out of my hand. I remembered what Nori and Fíli had taught me and I managed to roll out from underneath him and pull my sword. He jerked back as if I had stabbed him when I drew it and moaned piteously. I don’t know why, but I was too relieved to care.

“It ours,” he wailed again, “it’s ours! Gives it back!”

‘I was not going to though,’ Bilbo said firmly. ‘He had clearly attempted to harm me when I was trying to give it to him. There was no knowing what he would do once he had it again and I still needed a way out.

“Take me to the way out and I will give it you,” I told him. “You promised to guide me and I won’t have you going back on your word.”

‘I truly was not sure what he would do, and I do not think that he was either. He was muttering softly as if he were arguing with himself and his expression changed so quickly I could not keep track at all.

“Promise,” he demanded after he was done. “Promise hobbit will gives it back.”

“If you show me the way out,” I insisted.

“Yes, yes, Sméagol will show,” he cried irritably but he began to walk again.

‘We walked another little way. I had the ring clutched in one hand and my sword in another, and Sméagol was nearly walking backwards trying to keep his eyes on me at all times. Then suddenly I heard a great racket from the corridor. The sound of booted feet running and dwarves cursing. And there you were, running past the mouth of the tunnel we were walking down. I was stupid then. I rushed forward past Sméagol to call to you… and in doing so left myself completely unguarded.

‘He jumped at me again, but I felt something behind me and started to turn. Rather than landing on me as he had intended to, he pushed me forward out into the corridor, just as a group of goblins turned the corner. I knew they would see me and I scrambled to my feet to try and get my sword up. Then the most unexpected thing happened.’

Bilbo paused again here, with an evil little smile that told Thorin he knew exactly what he was doing. This part of the story, at least, Thorin recognised a little.

‘What?’ Bofur demanded as Bifur signed furiously. ‘What happened?’

‘They ran straight past me,’ Bilbo told them without any drama at all. ‘It was as if they didn’t even see me.’

‘How?’ Ori gasped. ‘That’s not possible!’

‘That is what I thought,’ Bilbo said. ‘I looked around like a cat that’s lost a bird it was chasing. Down at the floor, up at the ceiling, at the walls all around me; and as I turned I saw Sméagol. He was jumping up and down in rage, but silently so that the goblins would not hear him.

“Preciousssss,” he moaned. “He has the precious. Nooooo.”

‘And I did,’ Bilbo announced. ‘I had precious right on my finger, where I had tucked it as I began to fall, and because I did he could not see me at all. I thought about killing him then, for he had tried to get me killed to get his precious back.’

There were several rumbles of agreement here, including Balin to Thorin’s surprise. His friend looked furious at the thought that someone had tried to hurt their burglar after agreeing to help him.

‘I thought about it,’ Bilbo repeated, ‘and I also thought about taking it off and giving it back.’ He held up his hand to forestall the indignation of the Company.

‘I had never seen anyone look so utterly miserable,’ he said sadly. ‘Here he was, this hobbit who once had been much like me, alone under his mountain, forced out of the sun, with no one but his precious to talk to, and I had stolen it from him. I could not kill him. How do you kill someone when you’ve just broken their heart?’

Bilbo looked at the Company then, each in turn, and Thorin wondered if he was hoping they would give him an answer. In the end it was Dori who spoke.

‘You don’t,’ he told Bilbo quietly. ‘You are right, of course.’

‘I could not kill him,’ Bilbo said a second time, ‘but nor could l let him kill me. Instead I ran. I ran towards the door where the goblins were all milling around, furious but not daring to go into the light. I crept past them as quietly as I could, although I nearly tripped a number of them up because they were wandering everywhere. I got to the door just as they were closing it and I managed to push my way through, though I lost a button or two in the process. Then I was free, and what happened after that you all know,’ he finished with a careless gesture.

‘What makes someone mad like that?’ Kili asked into the quiet that followed. ‘What makes them so twisted?’

‘A great many things, lad,’ Balin told him softly. ‘We never really understand most of them. It just seems as if some people are unlucky and it takes them no matter how they try.’

Thorin debated adding his own comments for a moment. He had suspicions about that ring. Mahal had made it quite clear that his grandfather’s madness, and his father’s slide toward it, had been the fault of a ring. One of the seven that Sauron had given them, curse his black soul, years and years ago. It had corrupted their thoughts and turned them ‘til gold was all they could think of. Now, here was another ring, a magic ring, and the creature that loved it so was entirely mad to the point that he seemed to switch personalities completely. How many times had Thror raged at his family, in the latter days of his rule in Erebor, and then afterwards nearly cried with shame over the things he had said? No, Thorin did not like this magic ring of Bilbo’s at all.

‘Evil creates it, as well,’ Thorin said, looking solely at Bilbo. ‘There was a ring in my line, once, the second most prized possession of my grandfather, after the Arkenstone,’ that word Thorin practically spat in disgust. ‘My mother argued with my father about it more than once when I was young. I would hear them having whispered arguments on the way back to our rooms, and she would say that he was never so bad before he took to wearing it all the time.’

Balin looked at him sharply. Not once in all the long years of their friendship had Thorin mentioned such a thing to him. Not even when they had been talking about Thror’s madness and its cause. When he caught Thorin’s eye he nearly spoke but then he saw something he had not expected.

Yes, Thorin’s face told him, yes I am lying. It is important, I promise you.

Balin stilled, and then nodded. Oh, he hated not knowing what Thorin was up to. That way generally led to disasters of unparalleled proportions, such as an agreement to go with the army to Moria when by rights Thorin and Frerin should have been left behind. He had given his word though and he would keep to it. Thorin would tell him when he needed to know. He hoped.

Bilbo was looking in astonishment at the ring in his hand. He turned it round and round in his palm, head moving from side to side as is he was expecting the appearance to change.

‘You think it is evil?’ he asked Thorin with some incredulity.

‘I did not say that it was,’ Thorin answered. ‘Only that there have been evil things hidden in that form over the years. A question for Lord Elrond, perhaps, when next the two of you meet.’

‘Hmm,’ Bilbo murmured. ‘Perhaps.’

With that the ring disappeared back into his pocket and Bilbo got to his feet, clearing his throat.

‘Well,’ he said with slightly forced cheer, ‘I hope you all enjoyed your story, for now it is time that we walk once more.’

There were groans and cracking noises as the dwarves straightened up and prepared to move. Very shortly they had all stretched themselves out and retrieved their packs, and the long walk began again.

«««

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have unashamedly stolen 'The Mummer's Dance' from Loreena McKennitt for the purposes of this chapter. It is much better than anything I could ever write so I think it was worth it :)  
> Gollum was very difficult to write but I hope he turned out well in the end.


	9. Thin Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirkwood holds many dangers for a Company of dwarves (and their hobbit).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all - please see the end of the chapter for warnings. There is some discussion in here that might be upsetting to some readers.
> 
> That said, this story has over a hundred kudos :) Thank you all so much for those and for all the lovely comments. In the interest of keeping the story momentum going, I have decided to post this chapter just after I have finished writing it. I have checked it as carefully as I can, but if you come across any gaffes please do let me know so I can change them. On to Mirkwood!

 

Chapter Nine: Thin Ice

For two more days the Company travelled through Mirkwood, keeping a close watch on their surroundings at all times. They could sense that there were things watching them from the shadows but not even Kíli and Bilbo, who had the sharpest eyes of them all, could tell what was there. They stuck firmly to the path, avoiding any contact with the creatures that lived in the forest. They ate only what Beorn had given them and drank as sparingly as possible.

Throughout these days Balin stuck close to Thorin as they discussed what they would do if or when they did meet Thranduil. The Elven King was highly unlikely to give them any leeway – his dislike of the dwarves of Erebor had been clear in the past and neither Balin nor Thorin believed that this dislike would have dwindled over time.

‘We can’t afford to put a foot wrong, Thorin,’ Balin warned him early in this conversation. ‘Any hint of disrespect or subterfuge and we’ll be in serious trouble.’

‘That I can well imagine,’ Thorin responded, remembering the days they had spent locked in Thranduil’s dungeon before. ‘Enough trouble to end in the dungeons perhaps.’

‘Indeed,’ Balin said with a slightly questioning note in his voice. ‘That would be worrying.’

Thorin knew he was playing a dangerous game, giving Balin enough hints that eventually he was bound to realise that Thorin had more information than should be possible. He needed Balin’s experience for this though. For all Thorin’s royal training, he had never had Balin’s natural instinct for bargaining and negotiation.

‘However we arrive at his halls,’ Balin told his King, ‘we are sure to be suspected at first. There is no point denying why we are come. Any fool could see a connection between your presence and a desire to retake Erebor. The important thing is to make it clear that we wished to speak to Thranduil before we went any further and that we have been looking for him. That turns us from prisoners to escorted guests. If we aren’t taken directly to Thranduil we’ll need to request an audience immediately – but it will have to be a request. We’ll be in the weaker position, demanding will do nothing but anger whoever we are dealing with.’

‘What if the audience isn’t accepted?’ Fíli asked. He had been walking with them, along with Kíli, for Balin had decided that this would be a good continuation of their training.

‘I think it will be,’ Balin responded. ‘If nothing else he will be curious about our reasons for coming when we have never done so before.’

‘And when we do get to meet with him?’ Kíli questioned.

‘Then we make it clear first of all that we regret how our alliance ended. There can be no mention of blame or recriminations, but nor can we be too apologetic, for that would suggest we will bend to anything Thranduil wants. It is a hard line to walk. Which is why your uncle and I will be doing the talking.’

‘By which Balin means I will be saying what he tells me to,’ Thorin interjected dryly.

‘Hmm,’ Balin responded. ‘A few months ago I might have believed that.’

The boys did not seem to know what to make of this but Thorin laughed it away. Balin would probably make such pointed comments for a while as he tried to extract any information he could, but he was not truly angry with Thorin or else their conversations would be nowhere near as civil.

«««

In the end it was another three days before they encountered elves. They had successfully managed to cross the river Beorn had spoken of without any disasters but supplies were running short and they were still hungry and thirsty much of the time. Thorin had ordered a short rest to eat and drink when the spiders suddenly descended upon them. Bilbo was the first to notice them and he shouted a warning to the others even as he was pulling Sting from its scabbard. Nori and Dwalin reacted first; Nori rolling sideways and shoving Bofur out of the path of a spider, while Dwalin grabbed Keeper and hacked at the spider which was attempting to cover Glóin in webbing.

Soon enough they were fighting a hard battle on all sides. They had quickly paired up, fighting back to back so they were harder to catch off guard. Mostly they were managing to hold their ground. Kíli had swiftly switched to his sword rather than his bow, due to the close quarters, and he and Fíli were dealing with the three spiders that were trying to catch them up in webs. The other pairings were dealing with three or four spiders each and neither side of the battle was making much progress.

‘Watch for poison,’ Nori shouted loudly. ‘They’re trying to knock us unconscious!’ As he shouted he ducked low under one of the spiders he was fighting, slamming a knife up into the softer underbelly. The spider shrieked and began to fall and Dwalin moved forward to guard Nori from another which surged forward to take its place.

‘Thorin, this isn’t working,’ Bilbo called from behind him. After their hobbit’s recent injuries Thorin had no intention of letting him be hurt again and had chosen to guard Bilbo’s back himself. ‘We cannot fight them all off at once and I cannot keep them as far back as you can.’

This much was true. Though some of the Company were smaller than others, all had a greater reach than Bilbo and the hobbit was finding the battle extremely difficult. He was also still sore and moving more slowly than he normally would.

‘What do you suggest?’ Thorin asked, slashing at the legs of the spider which had just reared up to try and entangle him. It stumbled backward, suddenly unsteady, and crashed into one of its fellows, buying them a moment of respite.

In response, Bilbo held up the ring. His plan was immediately clear. If their hobbit was to disappear he could do far more damage without as much risk of being harmed.

‘Do it,’ Thorin ordered, and suddenly Bilbo was gone. Thorin retreated hurriedly towards Dori and Bifur, joining their fight as the spiders that had been targeting him followed.

Very soon afterwards the battle began to turn in their favour. Distracted by the cuts and slashes from an invisible enemy the spiders took their attention off the dwarves, turning in circles to try and catch sight of the thing that was dealing the damage.

‘Over here, you blundering insects!’ Bilbo shouted from halfway across the clearing. Three spiders turned, chittering angrily at one another, and shot across the clearing to the spot their burglar had shouted from. Thorin, watching more closely despite the fight he was involved in, saw Bilbo running from the spot in the leaves that he disturbed on his way. By the time the spiders reached their goal he was long gone.

With the spiders in disarray, the Company were able to renew their attacks more strongly. Kíli moved behind Dwalin, Nori, Balin and Ori, using them as cover as he unslung his bow and began to fire rapidly. For several minutes Bilbo ran from place to place and the more his disembodied voice taunted the spiders, the angrier and more careless they became. The battle was nearly finished when suddenly a new commotion began.

A group of elves burst into the clearing, doing battle with a second set of spiders. Instinctively the Company turned from dispatching the last of their own foes to do battle with those which had just appeared. Ori joined Kíli at the back of the group, swapping his war hammer for the large stones which lay nearby, using them to confuse and stun the spiders within his reach. Bilbo was still at work, though he was no longer calling out. Instead he wound in and out of the legs of the spiders, causing as much damage and havoc as possible while escaping the notice of the elves.

This battle, too, looked likely to won before long. The number of spiders was dwindling steadily and the elves seemed ready to turn their attention to the dwarves they had unexpectedly come across. Then, without warning, a spider half again the size of any of the others dropped from the cover of the trees above, heading straight for the blond elf whom Thorin recognised as the son of the King. As several of the elves, including the auburn-haired Guard Captain whom Thorin also recognised, cried out and moved to attack, the spider collapsed on top of the prince, already dead. All eyes turned across the clearing to look at Kíli, who had fired the killing arrow. All except Prince Legolas, who was struggling his way out from underneath his former attacker. Kili ignored the elves entirely, instead looking at his uncle.

‘Oops,’ he said innocently and, completely against his will, Thorin began to laugh loudly. The others joined in, apart from Balin who was giving one of his famed ‘oh, for Mahal’s sake, I’m surrounded by children’ glares.

Having finally untangled himself, Legolas strode across the clearing, nocked an arrow and aimed it at Thorin's head.

‘What business do you have in the Woodland Realm, dwarf?’ he demanded. ‘None are allowed here except with the King’s permission.’

‘Which we would have happily obtained,’ Balin stepped forward to say, ‘had we known how to find him. As it was, we resorted to walking about the forest hoping to find someone who could guide us.’

‘You wish to see the King?’ Legolas asked disbelievingly and several of the elves muttered uneasily in their own language.

‘We do,’ Balin asserted. ‘We have much we would like to speak to him about.’

The war Legolas was fighting within himself was clear. He wanted nothing more than to drag them in chains before Thranduil, but to do so to those who had proclaimed themselves visitors rather than intruders would be unreasonable in the extreme. In the end he was forced to compromise.

‘Search them,’ he ordered his people. Turning back to Balin and Thorin he spoke firmly. ‘You will be taken to see the King but you will not enter his presence armed. Such is the law of the Woodland Realm.’

A number of the Company made noises of disagreement, understandably nervous at being disarmed in a place where they had so recently fought. Thorin made a chopping gesture with his hand, however, and they were quickly silenced. They bore the searching as patiently as they could have been expected to and Thorin allowed himself a small smile when he caught sight of Fíli’s daggers being discovered one by one, much to the disgust of his guard. When finally all of their weapons had been taken, Thorin found himself confronted by an angry Legolas, holding Orcrist in hand.

‘Where did you get this?’

‘It was gifted to me by Lord Elrond of Rivendell, after I found this sword and Glamdring in a troll hoard whilst travelling,’ Thorin said as tolerantly as he could manage. He had forgotten quite how irritating the elves of Mirkwood could be when they put their minds to it. ‘Glamdring, Elrond gave to Gandalf for our travels.’

‘Mithrandir!’ Legolas exclaimed. ‘A convenient claim indeed considering he is not among your companions. I find it extremely hard to believe that Lord Elrond would have given an ancient elven sword to a _dwarf_.’

‘You asked me how I came by the sword and I have told you,’ Thorin said plainly. ‘Whether or not you believe me is, of course, entirely up to you.’

Legolas’ eyes narrowed and he seemed to consider arguing further, before recollecting that his father would be able to ask such questions himself once the dwarves were taken to him.

‘Bring them,’ he called and the elves began to move the dwarves along the road once more. On the bright side, Thorin thought, if they got to Thranduil sometime this week it would still be faster than they would have been on their own. They had apparently been walking away from Thranduil’s halls before they had stopped.

«««

The patrol’s return with a groups of dwarves in their midst caused quite a stir in Thranduil’s court. Though Legolas had chosen not to bind the dwarves, still the elves who saw the group pass whispered to one another that dwarves had been taken captive in the forest. Rumours flew and by the time Thranduil arrived at his throne room in response to his son’s message, the area was full of Wood Elves wishing to see what was happening.

Thranduil strode purposefully through the room to take his seat and paid no mind to any in the room until he had done so. Once he was settled, he looked up and took in the sight before him with no hint of his thoughts upon his face.

‘Legolas,’ he addressed his son, ‘explain this please.’

Legolas paused a moment to collect his thoughts, knowing that every word he spoke would be measured not only by their audience, but also by his father. To anger the King was a mistake even for his own child.

‘Whilst we were on patrol,’ he stated at last, ‘we came upon a nest of spiders moving rapidly through the forest. Unlike the nests we normally come across, these did not immediately turn and attack us when we found them. They seemed to have a destination in mind and were in a great hurry to get there so we followed, killing those we could on our way. When we reached their destination it seemed that the spiders had somehow been summoned by their fellows, who were attacking this group of dwarves on the main path. Once the battle was done, we asked the dwarves their business and were told that they had come into the Woodland Realm desiring to meet with you. Hence, we have brought them to you, without their weapons as is your law.’

‘Very well,’ Thranduil said with a nod and Legolas held back a sigh of relief. ‘In that case, it would seem my questions are better aimed at our visitors.’

Here he paused, looking each member of the Company over in turn. Bilbo, who had removed his ring after the battle when the elves were not looking, had been brought in with the rest of the Company. He shivered slightly under Thranduil’s gaze and Fíli reached out to reassure him.

‘Don’t worry,’ Fíli told Bilbo softly, ‘Balin and Uncle will see us through.’ Bilbo steadied then, reminding himself to trust in his friends as Thorin had trusted him in the forest.

Having rested his eyes on Bilbo for a long moment, Thranduil had turned to Thorin. He raised one eyebrow in a deliberate display of surprise and then spoke once more.

‘Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror,’ he said evenly, his voice pitched to carry throughout the room, ‘it has been a great many years since last you were seen in these parts.’

‘It has been many years since I had reason to be here,’ Thorin answered simply, saying nothing else.

‘What business have you in my realm, then?’ Thranduil queried, unperturbed. ‘For use of the path that you were found upon is restricted to my people alone.’

‘We had hoped to speak with you,’ Thorin replied, ‘but having reached the forest, and taken counsel from one who lives nearby, it became clear that there was no better way to find your palace than entering the forest and searching for you. Our friend set us upon that path and was very firm in his insistence that we did not stray from it, for he claimed it was the only safe passage left through your lands.’

‘Indeed,’ Thranduil murmured before raising his voice once more, ‘might I ask the identity of this friend?’

‘His name is Beorn,’ Thorin told him. ‘He said that he had entered your forest rarely and could give us no better advice. Gandalf, who was travelling with us at the time, also repeated the warning that we were not to leave the path before he departed.’

‘Mithrandir!’ Thranduil gave another of his calculated exclamations. ‘Mithrandir was travelling to my realm with a party of dwarves… the tale becomes more intriguing by the moment.’

‘The dwarf also claimed that Lord Elrond bestowed this upon him and gave Glamdring to Mithrandir before they departed from Imladris.’

Legolas held Orcrist up before the throne and, when Thranduil extended a hand, moved to place the hilt across his father’s palm. Thranduil raised the weapon up and inspected it closely. Then his eyes turned to Thorin once more and this time his surprise did not seem false.

‘This blade has not been seen in two Ages of men,’ Thranduil stated. 'Where did you find it?’

‘It was amongst a troll hoard that we discovered on our way to Rivendell,’ Thorin told him, wondering if they were going to speak of such things all day. Far be it from elves to reach the point in a direct manner. He purposely ignored the multiple occasions when he had had similar thoughts about his own Company.

‘A troll hoard,’ Thranduil said consideringly, looking the sword over again.

‘Along with this,’ Bilbo chipped in, holding the blade he had recently christened as Sting up for viewing as well.

Now Thranduil left his dais, walking over to the Company and taking Sting from Bilbo. It did not take him long to see that the blade was indeed as old as Orcrist and Thorin was somewhat reassured when Thranduil returned it to Bilbo. Bilbo would need Sting in the days to come, he was sure of it. Orcrist Thranduil kept and Thorin spared a moment to worry about the possibility that he had just lost his sword to an elven king.

‘So you have visited Lord Elrond, too, on your travels,’ Thranduil continued once he had retaken his seat upon the throne, ‘and Mithrandir has been your companion. You must have an interesting tale to tell, Thorin Oakenshield.’

‘The journey has had its moments,’ Thorin concurred, saying nothing else. He was baiting Thranduil slightly and knew it for the dangerous game that it was. Balin would have been explaining their presence fully by this point and that was likely the wisest course. He could not help pushing a little, though, to see how far Thranduil would let it go.

When Thranduil’s posture stiffened at his last reply and Balin dug one finger rather painfully into Thorin’s spine, it was clear that he had pushed far enough for now.

‘We have travelled from Ered Luin,’ he said as if he had simply taken a long breath between sentences. ‘We went first to the Shire to collect Master Baggins,’ Thorin gestured to Bilbo in explanation and noticed the hobbit pulling himself up to his full height, little though that was, ‘then continued on to Rivendell, that we might ask Lord Elrond for his aid in reading a map that I had been given. Upon the way we came across a group of trolls who desired to have us for dinner and, once we had dealt with them, we found their hoard and retrieved the swords. Gandalf joined us in Rivendell and journeyed across the Misty Mountains with us before departing when we were outside the forest.’

‘You needed Lord Elrond’s help to read a map?’ Thranduil questioned. ‘I had imagined that the dwarves of Erebor would be able to decipher their own maps if they needed to.’

‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you?’ Dwalin inserted at this point and Thorin decided he had had quite enough of this particular joke.

Turning to Dwalin, he spoke in a heated tone but kept his voice low enough that the words would not be heard, ‘Will you desist with your comments about my sense of direction, Dwalin, or need I bind your jaws together?’

Dwalin held his hands up to placate Thorin and backed away slightly, ‘Alright, alright, if you’re going to be sensitive about it.’

‘ _Thank you_ ,’ Thorin said emphatically, then turned around again.

‘A long running discussion, I see,’ Thranduil said, looking faintly amused for the first time in Thorin’s acquaintance with him.

‘Very long running,’ Thorin agreed.

‘Well, I am glad to see that it has been resolved for now. I would still like to have my question answered, however,’ and that suddenly the amusement was gone again.

‘The map was one that my father had passed to Gandalf to give to me,’ Thorin told him. ‘It had a message in moon runes written upon it and, as none of us could read them, we went to Rivendell to ask Lord Elrond to do so for us.’

‘Elrond obliged, I suppose,’ Thranduil prompted.

‘He did,’ Thorin replied. ‘The runes revealed information about Erebor that I had not been privy to, being too young when Smaug came.’

‘So that _is_ your purpose then,’ Thranduil said, not as a question but as confirmation. ‘You are on a quest to reclaim your homeland and slay the dragon.’

‘We are,’ Thorin said, ‘though we would place killing the dragon above reclaiming our homeland in this instance.’

‘For the dragon guards the treasure and it cannot be reclaimed without his death,’ Thranduil stated.

‘For the dragon is dangerous enough to destroy an entire city of Men should he decide to do so,’ Thorin retorted, ‘and Erebor seems unlikely to disappear in the meantime.'

‘You would claim to be on a mission of mercy then,’ Legolas interrupted mockingly from his place next to the Company. ‘You come to save Esgaroth from the dragon _you_ brought upon the East in the first place!’

‘We come to kill the dragon which was brought to the East by Erebor’s treasure hoard,’ Thorin persisted, determinedly holding on to his temper. Other members of the Company shifted behind him and Thorin saw Balin signal in Iglishmêk for them to calm themselves.

‘That dragon has slept peacefully within Erebor for many years, doing nothing to harm the people who live in the area,’ Thranduil said. ‘How strange that you have not, in your great concern over the lives of others, come to slay it before now.’

Murdering the elven king would undo a great deal of hard work, Thorin reminded himself, and get the fourteen of them killed into the bargain. Thranduil was baiting him as he had baited Thranduil earlier and he would simply have to bear it.

‘It is the first responsibility of a king to look to his own people, as you know,’ Thorin said through slightly gritted teeth. ‘I had to ensure that my people were settled safely and securely before I could turn my mind back to Smaug and the damage he could cause.’

‘Ah, and now we have concern for your own people as well,’ Thranduil said sarcastically, rising from his seat and moving towards Thorin’s Company once more. ‘Strange, again, that such concern was entirely absent when you gathered all the gold you could to yourselves and created a hoard no dragon could resist. Where was your concern for your people, for your _children_ , when Smaug was burning Erebor and your people gathered all the wealth they could hold and ran from their home, leaving others burning behind them? I heard no appeals for aid for your children from Thror, only demands that we help him to regain his throne!’

Thorin struggled mightily with this temper, knowing that it showed as he ground his jaw and clenched and unclenched his fists. All eyes within and without the Company were upon him and the whole room seemed poised for his explosion.

Yet, when it came, the explosion was not from Thorin.

The first anyone knew of their mistake was when Dori leapt forward, scattering other members of the Company in his wake, and made a concerted effort to secure his hands around Thranduil’s throat.

‘Dori, no!’ several voices cried, Thorin’s among them, and Thorin and Dwalin caught their companion and hauled him back, using all their strength to hold him still. Thranduil’s guards, including the Guard Captain and Legolas, moved forward with blades drawn to take hold of Dori and deal with him in their own way.

‘Leave him!’ a voice roared suddenly and the guards went utterly still at the command in that voice.

Turning, expecting somehow to see that Thranduil had decided to show mercy, Thorin found Fíli standing between Dori and the elven guards, looking every inch the king he would one day be. The guards all looked stunned, as if they could not quite figure out how they had come to be stationary.

The shock gave Thorin and Dwalin time to get a better hold on Dori but it turned out to be unnecessary. Fíli’s roar had startled Dori, too, and had shocked him back to himself. Going nearly limp Dori panted for breath and after a moment looked up at Thorin.

‘Your Majesty, I am so sorry,’ he said, distraught. ‘You made your expectations quite clear and I have brought shame to our people.’

Finally, Thorin’s mind caught up with the action. Dori, who had spoken at Bilbo’s home of the sister he had lost to the dragon, had been able to bear Thranduil’s taunts about children no longer. What a fool he had been, not to remember that Dori too would remember Erebor and its people, even if he had only been Frerin’s age.

‘There is no shame in grief, Dori,’ Thorin tried to reassure him. ‘I am not angry and you have not failed me.’

‘Which is very generous of you I am sure,’ Thranduil snapped, clearly furious at both the attempted attack and the guards who had obeyed a dwarven prince over their king. ‘I, however, will not be so forgiving of an attack upon my person by one who claimed to be a guest in my halls.’

Balin looked ready to take up the conversation but was beaten to the chase by Nori, who looked as angry as Thorin had ever seen him.

‘I would like to know,’ he snapped with all the fury of a mother bear whose cubs had been threatened, ‘when it became acceptable to speak to your guests without giving a single thought to the troubles they might have suffered. You speak a lot of the damage Smaug has caused, King of the Woodland Realm, but it was not _your_ sister who starved to death wandering the world because no one would aid our people!’

Thorin had turned his attention to Thranduil part way through this speech and, just for a moment, saw regret fill the King’s eyes. Was it possible that Mahal had been right all those months ago, he wondered. Did Thranduil regret the deaths of the dwarves who had been lost when Smaug came?

Whether he did or not, Thranduil was in a precarious position now. His court would be fully expecting a stern punishment for an attempted attack upon their king and Thranduil would not like to look weak before them by admitting that it had been partly his own fault. Thorin suspected, though, from the long silence that held after Nori’s outburst, that Thranduil was well aware of his fault in this incident at least.

Finally, Thranduil looked at the elves who had been watching so eagerly from the edges of the throne room.

‘Leave us,’ he ordered and they scattered like chaff in the wind, having no interest in bearing the brunt of their king’s displeasure.

Once the room was clear of all except the dwarves, Bilbo, Thranduil, Legolas and the Guard Captain (whose name Thorin still could not remember), Thranduil turned to speak to the dwarves again.

‘Tempers have been frayed this afternoon,’ he said vaguely, ‘and the conversation is unlikely to get any further while they remain so. You will be shown to rooms in the guest wing, which has a dining room you may use as well, and dinner will be brought to you. I would suggest that you remain within this wing for the night, for my guards are unlikely to look kindly upon anyone found elsewhere. We will speak again in the morning.’

With that he turned and strode from the room, signalling Legolas to follow. The Guard Captain looked at them with an unamused expression, clearly not happy to have been left in charge of the Company.

‘Come, then,’ she said sharply. ‘I shall take you to your quarters. Don’t!’ she commanded angrily when Kíli looked about to speak. ‘I have no interest in talking to you, only follow. Try to keep up.’

«««

Within their rooms, having been swiftly abandoned by the Guard Captain (whose name was apparently Tauriel, according to the guard at the entrance to the guest wing), the Company set aside their packs. Most of them strapped the weapons that had been taken from them back on again, then they reconvened in the dining room. All except Dori and Ori, Thorin noticed.

‘Your brothers are not joining us?’ he questioned Nori quietly, trying to avoid the attention of the others.

‘No,’ Nori told him equally quietly. ‘Dori’s best off with Ori after that. Such strong reminders always upset him and he likes to have Ori close by.’

‘And you?’ Thorin asked, wondering at the relationship between the two eldest brothers.

‘I will go back to them soon,’ Nori said, ‘I wanted to hear what the Company would say first and I needed to talk to you and Fíli. You treated my family well today. Thank you.’

‘They are my family, too, Nori,’ Thorin reminded him.

‘Yes,’ he said with a certain amount of surprise, ‘I suppose they are. It is hard to get used to considering ourselves acknowledged.’

‘It has been hard on him,’ Thorin said, returning to their previous topic. ‘Losing your sister, I mean.’

‘It has,’ Nori agreed. ‘Lori was the light of his life, even though they were only children. Ma said he carried her everywhere with him when they lived in Erebor and he continued to carry her when she got sick upon the road. Sometimes he let Da do it, but mostly it was Dori. When he woke up one morning to find that she had died in the night… it was very hard.’

‘This is why he is so protective of the two of you?’ Thorin asked.

‘Hmmm,’ Nori hummed in agreement. ‘I’d wake up sometimes when I was very young and find him sitting next to my bed. I thought they were odd dreams, until Ori was born and I found Dori doing the same thing in his room. He would not go back to bed no matter how many times I suggested it. He just watched. I think he became convinced that if he did not watch he’d lose us too. I can’t stand the smothering most of the time,’ he said baldly, ‘and he can be a complete and utter pain in the arse, but I can’t say I don’t understand why he does it.’

‘If he does not wish to attend the meeting with Thranduil in the morning he may consider himself excused,’ Thorin told Nori.

‘I'll tell him,’ Nori responded. ‘For now, I need to talk to Fíli.’

Thorin would also need to speak to Fíli at some point. So far on this journey his nephew had far exceeded his expectations and Thorin was prouder of him than he could express. Now, however, he needed to check that everyone else was calm enough to meet with their oh-so-irritating host.

Thorin whistled sharply and the conversation died down as all turned to look at him.

‘I knew that, save for the dragon, this was going to be the hardest part of our journey. I should have realised that King Thranduil would make it as difficult as possible. You are all clever enough to know that we are on thin ice here. If there are any who think they will not be able to hold their temper, I would like to know it and you will not be expected to come to any meetings. I would excuse myself on those grounds, but somehow I do not think Balin would let me.’

‘Quite right,’ Balin said firmly. ‘If I have to deal with elves, so do you.’

‘Generous as ever,’ Thorin teased and received a rude gesture in return.

‘I’d better excuse myself,’ Glóin said heavily. ‘I’m no good in these fancy court games anyway. When you want something killing you know where I’ll be.’

A few of the Company looked at Dwalin, who shook his head forbiddingly.

‘Oh no,’ he said decisively. ‘If Thorin’s going anywhere near these bloody, untrustworthy, tree-lovers I’ll be there too. I wouldn’t be much good as a bodyguard sat back here.’

‘I don’t actually need a bodyguard, Dwalin,’ Thorin pointed out.

‘That’s what you think,’ Dwalin muttered and would say no more on the subject, nor be swayed into sitting the meetings out.

In the end, the only other member of the Company to excuse themselves was Bifur, on account of the fact that he would not be able to speak to any but the Company anyway and he’d rather not have Thranduil’s people learning bits and pieces of Khuzdul if possible.

That decided, the Company ate and retired for the night, steeling themselves for the meeting the next morning.

««««««

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some discussion of the death of a child in this chapter, in more detail than it has been discussed before. I have tried to avoid being graphic whilst still discussing the issue as I believe the characters would, but if you would be upset by this please be warned that it occurs.


	10. The Duty of Kings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The struggle to win the aid of Thranduil's people begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next few chapters are probably going to be shorter than my usual. There is a lot of talking to be done and I'd prefer to split it up a little rather than trying to cram it all in to one mammoth chapter.
> 
> Thank you to all my commenters, both the usual suspects and those who chose to comment for the first time :) You make the writing process much easier. Thank you for all the kudos as well, it is all appreciated!

 

Chapter Ten: The Duty of Kings

Thorin woke to find that Thranduil had clearly made some preparations the night before after they had retired. As their breakfast was served to them in the dining room they had been assigned, a Silvan elf appeared and informed them that baths had been readied for those who wanted them and that their clothes would be washed while they were bathing. This announcement was greeted with great relief by Bilbo, Dori and Balin, who were all heartily sick of being dirty and bedraggled. When it seemed that some of the Company were going to refuse the offer, Dori informed them that anyone who did not bathe now would be thrown in when he was done. Those who were reluctant swiftly changed their minds and Dori smiled with satisfaction.

That morning, before breakfast, Dori had come to Thorin’s rooms to talk with his King. He had clearly been nervous but had managed to tuck his grief away once more. When Thorin had invited him inside, Dori had remained standing ramrod straight as he began talking.

‘Nori told me of your offer to excuse me from the meetings,’ he informed Thorin. ‘If my presence will cause a problem then I will not attend.’

‘That is not why I offered, Dori,’ Thorin responded, sighing slightly. Apparently reassuring Dori and Nori of their place amongst Thorin’s family was still an ongoing process. ‘Thranduil was in the wrong last night and he knows it, or else he would have demanded some kind of punishment not just sent us to our rooms. I had thought perhaps _you_ would prefer not to come, given that painful memories might well come up again.’

Dori considered Thorin carefully before nodding abruptly.

‘I will attend,’ he said decisively. ‘I will not let Thranduil’s spite drive me out of important negotiations.’

‘Then I will be glad to have you there,’ Thorin told him.

‘Thank you,’ Dori said quietly. ‘I know Nori already said it on my behalf last night, but thank you again. I did not expect to lose my temper so badly but to have shamed the Company as well would have been hard to bear.’

‘There is no need for thanks,’ Thorin said softly. ‘We all have our griefs to endure, Dori. If we cannot accept them in each other we would be poor friends indeed.’

Dori nodded again but without the force he had used earlier. Now, rather than just calm, he looked easy once more and far less tense than when he had entered the room.

‘It is hard for Nori and Ori,’ he said after a moment. ‘To them she is nothing more than a tale they have been told all of their lives. They have been very good at respecting her memory over the years but they cannot truly understand. You cannot miss that which you have never known.’

‘No,’ Thorin agreed, ‘but there are those who understand, Dori. Balin and I did not know her either, but there were others we knew who did not make it to Ered Luin alive. You don’t grieve alone.’

‘And that is good to know,’ Dori said, smiling at last. ‘As for King Thranduil, let us see how he likes being argued with for a change. It does not seem that anyone here has the guts to do so.’

‘Well, this Company is not lacking in guts,’ Thorin said wryly. ‘Intelligence, perhaps, but not guts.’

‘I would not let Balin, Ori and Bilbo hear you say so,’ Dori warned, laughing. ‘It’s the clever ones you have to watch for!’

«««

By the time they had all finished bathing and were dressed in clean sets of clothes it was closer to lunchtime than morning. Another elven messenger had informed Thorin that the Company would be taken to Thranduil after lunch. While they ate Thorin and Balin spoke quickly, trying to decide where to go from here given that their former plan had hurtled out of the window the night before.

‘Lay the plan out to him – what we have of a plan anyway – and see what he says from there,’ Balin said concisely. ‘In truth, I am not sure I can predict Thranduil the way I could predict another dwarf or even a man. He has too many years of disputes with dwarves to draw on, I’m never entirely sure what he’s thinking.’

‘Nor I,’ said Thorin. ‘I had hoped he would be more reasonable. I think speaking to Elrond altered my expectations a little too much.’

‘Thranduil is much closer to the problem than Elrond,’ Balin pointed out. ‘He will not be so easily swayed.’

Thorin was beginning to find a great many flaws in the plan he had laid out for himself before they left Ered Luin and wished he had taken more time over it. If Thranduil did decide to lock them away, Bilbo would not be able to rescue them this time – the entire quest could come to naught very quickly.

When they did finally meet Thranduil, Thorin was glad to see that they were not taken to the throne room once more but to a smaller meeting room not far away. Sitting with Thranduil were his son, Captain Tauriel and a number of blonde elves who apparently held high positions in Thranduil’s court.

‘I hope that you and your companions are well rested, Thorin,’ Thranduil stated to begin. He was conspicuously avoiding looking at Dori, who had placed himself towards the front of the group.

‘We are,’ Thorin replied, ‘and we were grateful for the help your household offered.’

‘I am glad,’ Thranduil said diplomatically. ‘I see that some of your number are not with us, are they well?’

‘Bifur’s injury still causes him trouble at times,’ Thorin prevaricated. ‘Glóin has remained to sit with him.’

He would be damned if he was going to reveal the true cause of their absence to Thranduil. The elf would push them hard enough as it was, he did not need more ammunition.

‘Of course,’ Thranduil answered graciously, ‘I am sorry to hear that. Please, sit down.’

The dance had begun. For some minutes Thorin and Thranduil exchanged pleasantries about the Woodland Realm and the Company’s journey so far. Neither of them was willing to reveal the slightest amount of impatience and Thorin’s Company were sitting as still as statues, playing the game as well as he could have hoped. Finally, however, Thranduil seemed ready to cut to the chase.

‘I am greatly concerned,’ he told Thorin solemnly, ‘to hear that you intend to try to enter the Lonely Mountain and kill the dragon. We all know how dangerous Smaug can be when roused; the situation is unlikely to end well.’

Thorin permitted himself an internal sigh. It seemed he was doomed to have this conversation over and over again until the blasted dragon was finally dead.

‘Sleeping dragons do not sleep forever, Thranduil,’ he responded firmly. ‘Perhaps Smaug has been quiescent for many years, but that does not mean he will remain that way. Unless you would argue that he is already dead, but somehow I doubt you believe that.’

‘No, I do not believe that he is dead,’ Thranduil said slowly, ‘but I can see no harm in leaving him to sleep. Your people have not lived in Erebor for many a year, Thorin, why must they return now when there is peace?’

‘For a great many reasons,’ Thorin said plainly, ‘not the least of which is that Smaug awakening when he is entirely unexpected, and those surrounding Erebor are entirely unprepared, will definitely not end well.’

‘I am afraid I cannot see what the difference is. Whenever Smaug wakes he is equally likely to attack those who live nearby,’ Thranduil did seem honestly baffled and Thorin wondered if anyone had actually had a plan to deal with Smaug which did not consist of “we’ll just leave him there and hope he never wakes up”.

‘It is not Smaug’s behaviour that can be changed but that of those who live in this area,’ Thorin pointed out.

One of Thranduil’s advisors scoffed loudly, ‘Ah, so the dwarf is come to tell us what we must do to kill Smaug! How very like his grandfather – Thror was full of plans for what _we_ could do as well.’

‘If there was an army heading this way, my lords,’ Dwalin interjected, ‘what would you do in preparation?’

The advisors all looked at Dwalin with startled expressions, as if they had believed the rest of Thorin’s party unable to speak. None answered him and after a moment Dwalin became impatient.

‘If you have a stronghold you withdraw into it as long as you have the supplies to outlast a siege. If there are folk who live in unprotected farms and villages you pull them back out of range of the enemy. And, if you can, you take the enemy by surprise and deal as much damage as possible before they realise you are there.’

‘So you plan to try and surprise Smaug and hope that you can kill him before he leaves the mountain?’ Legolas contributed. ‘It is hardly a well-developed plan.’

‘No,’ Balin added, ‘it is not, but that was not all that my brother said. We are well aware that the men of Esgaroth are vulnerable to attack if we cannot confine Smaug to Erebor. That is one of the reasons that we have come to speak to you. If we are to minimise the possible risks, the most sensible course of action would be to remove the inhabitants and bring them to a place of greater safety.’

‘You would have them brought here?’ another counsellor exclaimed. ‘So the Woodland Realm is to be expected to feed and house an entire town of men so that you may reclaim your gold? You must think us fools!’

‘I am beginning to think that the elves of the Woodland Realm are the ones obsessed with gold,’ Bofur commented, his usual easy manner disguising the bite to his words. ‘You are the ones who keep bringing it up.’

‘How dare you?’ the elf demanded, rising to his feet and leaning over the table.

‘Enough!’ Thranduil’s voice cracked like a whip across the room and the elf quickly retook his seat. Once he was certain that everyone would behave themselves, Thranduil restarted the discussion.

‘I cannot see that my council are wrong to be surprised, son of Thrain,’ Thranduil told him clearly. ‘To take in an entire town of refugees would be a huge burden upon our resources and to bring them all here safely would take a great deal of time and organisation.’

‘Not to mention turning the dragon’s wrath upon our forest once he realises where his targets have gone,’ Captain Tauriel added, ignoring the glares that certain members of the council shot her way. ‘Forests burn very easily and not all of our people live within these caverns.’

‘Most of them do, though, don’t they?’ Kíli questioned, sounding very certain of the answer. ‘The spiders are spreading and living outside becomes more dangerous by the year.’

‘You assume a great deal, outsider,’ Tauriel responded, clearly affronted.

‘It does not take elven foresight to understand what is happening to the Greenwood, lass,’ Balin told her. ‘There are still one or two of us who are old enough to remember this kingdom before the dragon came. There was darkness, yes, but not like this. The path was still safe.’

The words were followed by absolute silence. Tauriel’s face was pained but she could not argue with Balin’s logic. Legolas’ hands clenched on the edge of the table, though his face remained clear enough. It was Thranduil who broke the quiet once again.

‘You are correct, Master…’

‘Balin,’ Balin supplied and Thranduil nodded.

‘Master Balin, but I am sure you can understand why I do not consider burning our home to rid us of the spiders as a valid solution to the problem.’ The Elven King’s voice was dry but he did not seem insulted as certain members of his council were, which Thorin considered to be a good sign.

‘Nor would we expect you to,’ Thorin answered. ‘We, of all people, understand what it is to love your home even if it is not the home you remember from years gone by.’

Thranduil nodded, smiling slightly to acknowledge the hit. The scale of the issue might be different but Erebor and the Woodland Realm were not entirely dissimilar in their problems.

‘Nevertheless, I would like to understand how exactly you plan to keep Smaug from attempting to burn my kingdom to the ground should we, for some reason, agree to house the men of Esgaroth within these walls,’ Thranduil informed Thorin.

‘That,’ Thorin answered slowly, hoping he did not regret this, ‘is where Master Baggins comes into the tale. Gandalf was of the opinion that he would be less likely to wake Smaug, being very light on his feet and of a race that Smaug is not familiar with.’

‘The hobbit!’ the counsellor who had risen earlier sat bolt upright in his chair, disbelief and scorn clear in his voice. ‘You intend to send a hobbit in to try and kill a dragon? For the Valar’s sake, he is barely the size of a human child!’

Bilbo was not the only member of the Company to feel the insult of this statement. Their hobbit had fought bravely on a number of occasions during their journey and certainly did not deserve such a dismissal.

‘Given that Smaug is, from what I have been told, hundreds of times bigger than any mortal _or_ immortal in Middle Earth,’ Bilbo snapped in response, ‘I hardly think a difference of a few feet is going to matter if… _when_ I try to kill him.’

Thorin looked quickly at Bilbo, only to find that Bilbo had been expecting his glance. The hobbit gave the Company’s leader a slow nod. Bilbo knew what he had said. Here, before the Elven King and all his council, their hobbit had committed himself to the attempt to kill Smaug. A shiver ran down Thorin’s spine. Please, he thought to Mahal if their creator could hear him, please do not let him die doing this for us.

The Company, too, had heard the message behind Bilbo’s statement. They were all looking at Bilbo, completely ignoring Thranduil and his people. The elves were unimportant in this moment, for they had nothing to do with this decision.

‘Bilbo, are you sure?’ Bofur said gently. ‘None of us would ask you to do this. You know that.’

‘I know,’ he replied with great surety. ‘You’ve all been very careful to let me know it. In the end, though, this is why I came. I was always going to enter that mountain.’

‘You would let them use you to reclaim their gold?’ Thranduil asked, sounding as if he could scarcely believe what he was hearing. ‘Knowing that they intended you to be their sacrifice all along, you would still go in?’

‘You aren’t listening to me,’ Bilbo told him angrily, ‘any more than you’re listening to Thorin! They didn’t intend to sacrifice me, the decision was always mine and mine alone. Even after I signed the contract agreeing to go in, Thorin made sure I knew I was not truly bound to anything. I am _choosing_ to try and kill Smaug _for my friends_. My friends did not come here for gold! They came to try and make the world safer and to have their home back again. Well,’ he said with a slight chuckle, flicking at the edge of Bofur’s ridiculous hat, ‘for that and for the free ale.’

‘We don’t deserve you,’ Kíli said to Bilbo, looking awed at the announcement their hobbit had just made.

‘Of course you do,’ Bilbo scolded. ‘Who allowed themselves to be caught by trolls just because they threatened to hurt me? Who was willing to go back into a goblin-infested mountain just because I was lost in there? Who carried me all the way down a mountain because I was too hurt to walk myself? Who made me this coat and my clothes so that I would be warm and dry? Who trained me to fight so that I would be able to protect myself? You have been my _friends_ , Kíli, and there is very little I would not do for my friends.’

One by one the dwarves, touched by Bilbo’s words, came over to clap him on the shoulder or hug him. Thorin came last, holding Bilbo as tightly as he had when the hobbit had emerged from the Misty Mountains intact.

‘We will do everything we can to keep you safe,’ Thorin swore to him.

‘I know, Thorin,’ Bilbo responded. ‘I never doubted it for a second.’

‘Well,’ Thranduil stated when all of the dwarves were seated once more, ‘it would seem you have one brave enough to enter the mountain, but I still do not know what your plan is.’

‘At the moment, my plan is to talk with the men of Esgaroth,’ Thorin informed him, thinking of Bard and his black arrow. ‘Girion was given the strongest arrows that Erebor could forge some years before Smaug came. If any remain they will be in that town and they may be of help to us. Bilbo’s sword is strong, but I do not know if it will pierce dragon hide, so I would rather have another option available.’

‘Girion’s black arrows failed,’ Thranduil pointed out. ‘Smaug brushed them off easily.’

‘Oh, he brushed them off I am sure,’ said Balin, who was the only one of the Company who knew of this part of Thorin’s thoughts, ‘but I doubt he did it easily. Those arrows put holes in the walls of the forges where they were tested. The forgemaster nearly murdered the journeymen who thought that was a good idea when he found out.’

‘I did not know that,’ Thorin said, surprised. ‘How did you know? You hardly ever went to the Smith halls.’

‘I was an apprentice steward, Thorin,’ Balin reminded him with a snort. ‘Apprentices know everything that goes on. It’s because there are so many of them, I assume. Plenty of listening ears.’

‘You intend for the hobbit…,’ Legolas began, before being interrupted.

‘My _name_ ,’ came an angry voice, ‘is _Bilbo_. Unless you would like me to start calling you “the annoying elf” I suggest you learn to use it!’

‘You intend for Bilbo,’ Legolas began again, with a nod of apology in Bilbo’s direction, ‘to enter Erebor and attempt to kill the dragon with a black arrow, if there is one yet to be found in Esgaroth.’

‘Well, when you put it that way it sounds stupid,’ Kíli muttered from his seat next to Balin.

‘I wonder why,’ Tauriel muttered back, glaring at him. Kíli pretended to ignore her but Thorin was not unaware of the glances his nephew kept throwing in her direction. Mahal, this was the last thing he needed! Catching Kíli’s eye, Thorin used his own eyes to rebuke his nephew, who coloured slightly and turned his attention firmly back to the other elves at the table.

‘It is the best plan we have been able to come up with,’ Balin admitted. ‘If you have a better one we would be glad to hear it.’

‘How about _leaving the dragon alone_ ,’ said the smug counsellor Thorin was quickly coming to detest. ‘It has worked very well so far.’

‘For you, I’m sure,’ Dwalin growled. ‘We, on the other hand, are living in Ered Luin in amongst the remains of a city that crumbled years ago, with large numbers of our people still living hand-to-mouth years after we settled there. We have fewer children born by the year and if ever the work from human towns dries up the entire settlement will have to move again. We cannot go on like this.’

‘I had not realised,’ Thranduil intervened, voice mild, ‘that the situation was so dire.’

‘No,’ Balin replied, ‘because we have been very determinedly hiding the worst of it ever since Thorin became king. We were in a weak enough position there as it was, the last thing we needed was vultures coming to hover over us.’

‘Is it truly so dire?’ Legolas asked, for once with concern rather than scorn in his voice.

‘The mountains were overworked even before our cousins joined us,’ Bofur told him sadly, no cheer present for once. ‘A lot of the mining families were only scraping by. My family never lived in Erebor. We were miners in Ered Luin for hundreds of years before Smaug came, but by the time we left on the quest we had become toymakers instead. There just wasn’t enough work left.’

‘My sister told me,’ Thorin added after Bofur finished, ‘when first we discussed our plans, that we did well enough in Ered Luin. There are few now who are old enough to remember how much easier survival was in Erebor. Too many of my people think that being constantly hungry is a perfectly normal way to live. I cannot, in good conscience, do nothing to try and change that.’

Thorin paused for a moment, considering whether what he wanted to say next would help or hinder the situation. In the end he decided to take the risk. Looking straight at Thranduil, he said,

‘You know what it is to see your people grow used to hardship and suffering. You know the look that comes into their eyes when they realise that this may always be the way it is. Tell me there is something you would not do to change that, if there was a chance it might work.’

Thranduil held his gaze for several long seconds, then closed his eyes for a moment before speaking.

‘We have heard much this day which we need to think on,’ he conceded. ‘Let us adjourn until tomorrow. Master Oakenshield and his Company will keep the rooms they have been given but they are not to be considered confined to that area. They are guests of the Woodland Realm and shall be treated as such.’

Thranduil and Thorin rose at the same time, their respective followers joining them, and with that the meeting was over. Thorin admitted to himself that, despite his hopes, there was still a long way to go before he could return to his home.

««««««


	11. Unforeseen Encounters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not all meetings can be predicted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter for you. Thank you (as always) for all of the comments and kudos. They are always guaranteed to make me smile and to make me feel more like writing.

Chapter Eleven: Unforeseen Encounters

That evening, after they had all eaten, Thorin caught Fíli and Kíli and asked them to accompany him back to his room. They agreed readily enough, although Thorin noticed Kíli wincing when he thought his uncle wasn’t looking. Rather than letting another misunderstanding brew, Thorin decided to address the issue as soon as they were inside.

‘No, Kíli,’ he said resolutely, ‘this is _not_ about whatever is or is not between you and Captain Tauriel. Though if you could contrive not to bicker in these meetings like dwarflings I would appreciate it.’

Kíli flushed bright red while Fíli hid a snigger behind his hand. Thorin prayed for the strength to withstand the infatuations of his nephews. Why Kíli had had to choose an elf to become enamoured of he could not understand, but as long as it did not interfere with the negotiations he supposed it was none of his business.

‘I will not defend you if she decides you have given her mortal insult,’ he warned Kíli, ‘nor if Prince Legolas loses the fine control he has over his temper.’

Kíli looked confused but Fíli was obviously well aware of the undercurrents that had been present in the meeting room.

‘Legolas was the one who invited her to the meeting, Kíli, and the advisors weren’t happy to have her there. Something to do with the different types of elves living in the kingdom I assume. That means she has the Prince’s favour, for whatever reason, and he is unlikely to look kindly on you if you offer her insult somehow. Or maybe not even if you successfully woo her,’ Fíli warned his brother.

Kíli looked downhearted but shrugged it off, training his face into an uncaring expression. ‘She has no interest in being wooed,’ he told Fíli with studied indifference, ‘and as long as I don’t talk to her I can’t insult her. It will be fine.’

Fíli looked as unconvinced as Thorin felt, but there was little that either could do about it so they silently agreed to leave the topic alone for now.

‘You did want to talk to us, though, didn’t you, Uncle?’ Fíli asked him.

‘I did,’ Thorin replied, ‘though in truth I only wished to say that I am proud of you. You did a good thing in the throne room last night, Fíli. In Ered Luin I worried about the king I would be leaving behind if I died on this quest. I do not worry now. You have done very well… both of you,’ he finished, looking at Kíli as well. ‘That comment in the meeting today was well-made, Kíli, however little the elves liked it. It cannot hurt to remind them that inaction is not always the best course.’

The boys both muttered their thanks, looking slightly embarrassed but very pleased. They had heard more praise from their uncle since the quest began than they had in the rest of their lives, it seemed to them. If this was what responsible behaviour earned them, they would do their best to act as maturely as they could. In this spirit, Kíli voiced a thought he had been holding in since they arrived.

‘Uncle, should we not warn the elves that orcs are following us?’ he said hesitantly. ‘With the forest as dark and wild as it is they would have no trouble entering it to search for us. Those who do not live within these caverns could be in grave danger.’

And that, Thorin scolded himself, was something _he_ should have thought of. He had told Beorn that it was a poor guest who brought trouble with him. That was as true in the homes of elves as it was in the home of a skinchanger, curse it.

‘With me, both of you,’ Thorin said abruptly, marching from the room without waiting to check if they followed. It quickly became clear that they had when Thorin heard their footsteps thudding behind him. Thorin was sure that they presented quite the picture, hurrying through the halls of Thranduil’s palace. Thorin and Kíli were both in their shirts only, and Fíli had been fiddling with one braid during dinner and had managed to work half of it loose. Little wonder that Captain Tauriel, emerging from a room to their right, stopped them immediately.

‘This is the royal wing,’ she informed them suspiciously, ‘what business have you here?’

‘We need to see Thranduil,’ Thorin told her. ‘The matter is urgent.’

‘The King has retired for the night,’ Tauriel responded, ‘surely this can wait until morning.’

‘It really can’t,’ Kíli told her sincerely, deliberately stepping in front of Thorin to force the Captain to look at him. They stood like that for a few moments and Thorin had no idea what passed between them, but suddenly Tauriel turned on her heel and knocked firmly on the door she had just exited. Shortly afterward Prince Legolas opened it, a book held in one hand.

‘Tauriel?’ he said in confusion. ‘I thought you went to change the patrol rotas. What is wrong?’

Tauriel gestured behind her, encompassing Thorin and his nephews in her next statement. ‘My lord, we need to see the King.’

‘The dwarves?’ Legolas asked, looking more confused than ever. ‘Surely negotiations can wait for the morning.’

‘Please, Legolas,’ she said then, ‘it is important, I promise.’ The urgency in her voice and her face seemed to convince him.

‘Very well,’ he agreed. ‘Come with me. But I warn you, the King will not care for being woken.’

‘I assure you,’ Thorin told him, ‘it will be worth the inconvenience.’

‘It had better be,’ Legolas responded, the caution very clear. They walked swiftly, the dwarves unwilling to admit that they were struggling to match their guide’s pace. As they walked Fíli stepped sideways and bumped his shoulder against Kíli’s, worried by the brief look of despair on his brother’s face. Kíli simply shook his head, keeping his gaze firmly on the floor in front of him.

When they arrived at what had to be Thranduil’s rooms, Legolas paused outside for a moment, apparently listening closely. Then he rapped sharply on the door in a pattern that could only be deliberate. After a short pause, Thranduil came to the door, his court robes clearly thrown on over the top of more casual garments.

‘Legolas,’ he began, before catching sight of the rest of his visitors. ‘Well,’ he continued in a very different tone of voice, ‘my realm is certainly more exciting since your arrival, Thorin Oakenshield. I confess I have not the faintest idea what is going to happen from one moment to the next. I suppose you had better all come in.’

He moved back out of the way of the door, making a sweeping gesture to invite them to enter. This they did, Thorin trying to covertly survey their surroundings. Mahal knew he had never made it this far into Thranduil’s realm before and one could learn much about a person from their rooms. Bilbo’s had been full to the brim with books, tomes resting upon every available surface, much as Balin’s were. Thorin’s were sparse, containing only his weapons and clothes and one chest which contained a few keepsakes from his mother and father and the boys when they were younger.

Thranduil’s were not sparse but they were certainly not as full of luxuries as Thorin would have supposed. The chairs arrayed about the room looked very comfortable and were furnished in the greens and silvers which seemed to be favoured by Thranduil and his people. There were books scattered in fairly disorganised piles and Thorin received the distinct impression that Thranduil had a tendency to begin a book and then abandon it again when it did not suit his mood. There were no weapons to be seen and very few mementos of any kind, save for a portrait of his son and a woman who must have been his wife.

As Thorin was completing this brief appraisal, Thranduil gestured to a set of chairs by the fire.

‘Come, sit,’ he said magnanimously. ‘If we are to hold a meeting at this time of night we might as well be comfortable.’ There was some censure in his words but he did not seem to take any great exception to their presence. He offered all of his guests wine, though only Legolas and Thorin accepted. Then the Elven King surprised Thorin greatly by sprawling in his chair as Kíli sometimes did when he thought Dís was not watching.

‘I am full of curiosity about what brings my son, a Captain of my Guard and my honoured guests to my door this evening. Please, feel free to explain whenever it suits you.’ Ah, there was the bite that Thorin had been expecting.

‘My nephew,’ Thorin began, gesturing to Kíli who sat on his left, ‘reminded me this evening that we had forgotten to disclose information which you might need.’

‘Indeed,’ Thranduil murmured. ‘Perhaps he would be so kind as to impart this information, then.’

Kíli straightened instinctively as he found himself the focus of all in the room but did not seem as nervous as he might once have been.

‘Since before we arrived at Rivendell,’ he told Thranduil without any further introduction, ‘we have been hunted by a group of orcs. As we exited the Misty Mountains it became clear that they were led by Azog the Defiler. As far as we know they are still hunting us and it is possible that they will come here in their effort to capture Uncle.’

‘Which is very interesting I must admit,’ Thranduil granted, ‘but I am not sure why it was so urgent it could not wait for the morning.’ Here he looked at Tauriel, apparently sensing that their arrival here had been at least partly at her urging. ‘Our gates are perfectly secure, there is no reason to expect that orcs would make it through.’

‘The _front_ gate may be, Your Majesty,’ Tauriel informed him, clearly thinking fast, ‘but the exit which leads down to Esgaroth is not so heavily guarded. We have fought more than one battle on the shores of the river these last months. If they came that way…’

Now Legolas looked both alert and concerned, catching his father’s attention deliberately.

‘She is right, Father,’ he said urgently. ‘There is far less protection by that gate than anywhere else. The wall is not so high it cannot be scaled and they would have a clear run at the back gate if they managed to defeat the guards there.’

‘Could they?’ Thranduil said to Thorin then, previous irritation apparently gone. ‘The orcs which roam beyond my borders give a patrol little trouble.’

‘They could,’ Thorin said. ‘They were a large group when we encountered them and I have no doubt Azog could call for more if he chose to attack your palace directly. If your guards were not expecting an attack they might be overwhelmed, which is why we came tonight.’

By which, of course, Thorin meant that Azog had most definitely sent a large group here before and that Thranduil had lost a number of guards in the attack. That they had not been led by Azog meant little in the long run. Thorin was sure the order had come from his old enemy. Only Azog’s filth would have had the gall to attack Thranduil’s palace in broad daylight.

‘Captain Tauriel, double the guard on the gate,’ Thranduil commanded, ‘and ensure that all of the guards are warned of a possible attack. There is no saying they will come by the easiest route if they do.’

‘My lord,’ she agreed, rising to her feet and bowing in preparation to leave

‘Thank you,’ Kíli said suddenly, drawing everyone’s attention back to him. He, however, was looking at Tauriel alone. ‘For believing us, I mean.’

‘You do not strike me as liars,’ she responded, less harshly than she probably meant to, ‘and I would rather be overcautious than dead.’

With that she left the room and the royalty of dwarves and elves found themselves left alone together for the first time.

‘Very exciting indeed,’ Thranduil said, breaking the silence first. ‘First murder attempts, then orc attacks. Whatever next?’

‘Hopefully not a dragon attack,’ Thorin answered, suddenly too tired to bother with formality. ‘It would be nice if Smaug waited for us to come to him.’

‘You have a very strange outlook on the world,’ Thranduil told him with a similar amount of honesty. ‘I have never heard one of your kind speak so often of duty and so little of gold.’

‘With respect, Thranduil,’ Thorin said pointedly, ‘when last you had dealings with my people, it was with Thror. I loved and respected my grandfather as a child in Erebor but even dwarves grow wiser with age. He was caught in the throes of gold-sickness and mostly beyond reason by the time our kingdom fell. If there was a fault in the rest of Erebor’s dwarves it was that we did nothing while his sickness progressed, but that was not the responsibility of the common folk. It was mine and Thrain’s duty to intervene and we could not see how severe the problem had become. To judge the priorities of all dwarves by looking at Thror’s would give you a flawed picture indeed.’

‘I warned your grandfather of what would come,’ Thranduil told him harshly. ‘Had he listened….’

‘Had Thror listened to you, or to Girion, or even to my father when he still had the will to argue, much would have been different,’ Thorin said sharply, ‘but he did not.’

‘And is that what you taught your heirs?’ Thranduil retorted with equal severity. ‘What do they know of Erebor, son of Thrain? Tales of gold and glory and the divine right to rule given to the Line of Durin through their possession of the Arkenstone?’

‘Tales of grief and pain and fault,’ Fíli answered for Thorin angrily. ‘Tales of a great-grandfather gone mad, a grandfather too weak to fight him and a guilt which cannot be ignored. That is what our uncle taught us. That it is our Line and ours alone which brought calamity to Erebor and that it is our responsibility to undo what has been done. We are trying to do it, if the rest of the world would only let us!’

Thranduil looked entirely taken aback at this tirade and Thorin reached out to catch hold of Fíli’s shoulder.

‘Peace, nephew,’ he said gently. ‘Anger cannot win this argument for us.’ Fíli looked at him with such grief in his face that Thorin’s heart clenched painfully.

‘Well, it doesn’t seem like reason is working either,’ Fíli told Thorin. ‘How many hours have we spent arguing in circles with people, Uncle? They’re all very willing to tell us what _we_ can and cannot do but they expect to be able to make whatever decisions they like about their own homes. Erebor belongs to the dwarves, why shouldn’t we try to take it back?’

‘You have a suggestion about how we should solve our problems then?’ Legolas questioned irritably. ‘By all means, let us hear it.’

‘Nothing that you have not already heard, I’m sure,’ Fíli responded, ‘unless your Captain Tauriel is not so good at her job as I think she is. You need to take the fight to them. If you stay inside the borders they have drawn for you, only ever reacting to their moves, your realm will shrink ‘til there’s nothing left.’

‘And by “they” you mean the spiders, I assume, Prince Fíli,’ Thranduil stated. ‘They are, unfortunately, far from the only danger that assails this kingdom.’

‘No, they are not,’ Thorin added in, ‘but the other problem you might well have help with. When Gandalf left us it was with the plan of travelling to Dol Guldur to investigate the Necromancer we have all heard so much about. Unless I am much mistaken, he goes at the suggestion of Lady Galadriel and she and Lord Elrond intend to deal with whatever is found there.’

‘How kind of her to trouble herself with our problems,’ Thranduil drawled, ‘after all the years she has spent so busily ignoring them!’

‘If you are only ever going to look upon past actions and use them as a basis for rejecting all offers of help, Thranduil, you will find yourself out of allies very quickly. Every race in Middle Earth has made their mistakes at one time or another! Unless we learn to work with one another, when our enemies make their move we will be just as divided as they wish us to be and equally easy prey,’ Thorin uttered all of this in a chiding tone he might well have used on the boys. Diplomacy was all very well but sometimes people just needed a good smack across the back of the head.

‘It would seem I have underestimated all of you,’ Thranduil said at last. ‘I truly believed that if I pressed hard enough, or waited long enough, your true motivations would be revealed. Except they had already been revealed and I had not the clarity to see it. Tomorrow, Thorin,’ he continued, ‘we will speak again. Perhaps it is time to drain some poison from old wounds.’

‘That is a dangerous line of discussion,’ Thorin warned. ‘We might easily end up pouring salt over them instead.’

‘Then we will have to be careful, will we not?’ Thranduil responded. ‘For you are right, I truly do not think we will get much further until the air has been cleared, so to speak.’

Thorin acceded as graciously as he could. This was not exactly what he had meant but it was better than simply clinging to old wrongs. He was, despite all else, still here at Thranduil’s pleasure. There was no way of leaving the Woodland Realm without the King’s permission, so they had best humour him.

‘In the morning then,’ Thorin agreed. ‘Let us hope it bring no new trials with it.’

‘That, I think we can all agree on,’ Thranduil concurred, showing them out. Drained and with little interest in conversation, Thorin and his nephews left the royal wing and the Elven King behind them.

««««««


	12. Baiting The Hook

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hammering out an alliance is not a short task.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet more talking to come. I promise they will get out of Mirkwood eventually, just... not yet. Thank you for all the lovely comments and kudos. I am still happily hoarding every one. I should probably mention that I stole the two hobbit names in this chapter off a family tree somewhere online and know nothing about them except for their names.

Chapter Twelve: Baiting The Hook

Reluctant though he was to spend all morning rehashing events long past, Thorin awoke with a sense of purpose the next morning. Somehow or other, yesterday they had pushed Thranduil to the point where he was truly willing to talk and they might be able to make progress today. Anything which could speed their passage to Erebor at this point was something Thorin was pleased with - they only had so much time and he had yet to make any contact with Esgaroth. Hopefully they would not be reduced to sneaking in in barrels this time around.

At breakfast Thorin had to speak quickly with the Company before they went into the conference for the day. These morning and evening conversations were beginning to feel like the war councils Thror had once held and Thorin half-expected to end them with everyone shouting battle cries. Thankfully, such things only occurred within the wilds of his imagination.

‘You should all know that Fíli, Kíli and I had some speech with Thranduil and Legolas last night,’ at Balin’s startled and slightly annoyed look, Thorin held up his hand in apology. ‘It was an entirely unplanned meeting and I had not expected to speak to them of anything other than the possible orc attack that might be coming.’

Dwalin growled something which Thorin preferred not to think about too closely.

‘This is what happens when I’m surrounded by elves,’ Dwalin grumbled. ‘I’m so distracted by all the wittering I forget the important things.’ Balin patted him on the shoulder gently.

‘There, there, Brother,’ he murmured in a faux-comforting manner. ‘You’re starting to lose your faculties, that’s all. Age does it to us all.’

Balin then proved that age had not dulled his reflexes by neatly side-stepping the elbow that Dwalin threw in the direction of his stomach. Óin snorted in amusement at Dwalin’s disgruntled expression, unconcerned by the glare he received.

‘Once we had alerted them to the possibility of an attack, Thranduil spoke to us further on the matter of our quest. He intends for today’s meeting to begin by discussing the problems which originally drove Erebor and the Woodland Realm apart,’ Thorin continued. ‘Unfortunately this means that the discussion could get heated. I must ask all of you to keep your tempers no matter what happens. Better that Thranduil and his council end up looking uncontrolled than that we do.’

Bifur caught Thorin’s eye and signed to him. Thorin could not help a noise of amusement. Bifur did seem to have a talent for summing things up accurately.

‘A very long day,’ Thorin agreed, ‘and probably quite boring for many of you, given that you were not even alive when these events took place. If you do not wish to attend I will understand.’

‘What, and miss the fireworks?’ Óin commented. ‘Oh no, if those elves are going to get themselves all in a knot, I’ll be front and centre to see the play unfold.’

Agreement sounded from all directions and it seemed that Thorin was to have a full set of companions for the morning, including Bifur and Glóin. The latter promised good behaviour and insisted that he, like his brother, was interested to see what happened. Thorin decided not to mention that he was hoping it would not be all that exciting.

«««

This time, the messenger who arrived took the Company straight to the meeting room they had been in before and they arrived in the middle of what seemed to be a heated conversation between Prince Legolas, Captain Tauriel and the advisor Thorin would so dearly love to hit. Seeing that the elf was almost certainly losing the argument went some way towards cheering Thorin up. The three hurriedly ended the conversation when the dwarves entered and moved to take their seats.

Thorin and his Company also sat and Thorin noticed that Thranduil was not waiting for them this time. Apparently the more amicable mood he had been in last night did not mean that the Elven King was entirely willing to give up the political games. Thorin and his Company were to be made to wait for Thranduil’s arrival.

Thorin deliberately showed no irritation at the move, instead turning to talk to Bilbo as if he had all the time in the world.

‘This will probably be very boring for you,’ Thorin told Bilbo. ‘If there is one thing dwarves and elves have in common it is our love of old grudges. The conversation is unlikely to turn to anything else once we get started.’

Bilbo laughed unconcernedly, drawing curious glances from one or two of the elves on the other side of the table. He did not seem to notice and gave every impression of being perfectly content with what he was going to suffer through today.

‘Thorin, trust me,’ he assured, ‘hobbits like their old grudges as much as dwarves and elves. Ours just happen to be among our own race rather than with others. There are entire branches of families which refuse to speak to one another based on who inherited whose mother’s wedding lace and best dishes. When Marmadoc Brandybuck and Adaldrida Bolger decided to marry some years back half the Shire turned up to the wedding, just to see if their mothers would get through the day without tearing each other’s hair out.’

‘Did they?’ Thorin asked, suddenly curious.

‘They did not. They made a very good attempt at murdering each other right after the speeches had been made. It was the most exciting thing that had happened in months, everybody was talking about it… and the fact that you asked should explain why I wish to be here. Other people’s disagreements are always much more interesting than your own!’

Now it was Thorin’s turn to draw attention to himself by laughing.

‘You really are quite mischievous under all that politeness, aren’t you, Master Baggins?’ he asked teasingly. He was not to receive an answer, however, for at that point Thranduil decided to arrive.

Thranduil swept into the room dramatically, his coat flaring out behind him. He was dressed in silver yet again and looked as ethereal as the elves always seemed to. Why they needed all the frills and fancy fabrics Thorin did not know. If Thranduil ever tried to fight in that robe he’d most likely trip over it and get himself killed.

Once Thranduil was seated, he took a moment to inspect all those present before speaking. The perusal seemed fairly benign to Thorin but some of Thranduil’s advisors were clearly discomfited by his consideration. There were a great many undercurrents in this realm, Thorin decided. The growing darkness in Mirkwood might not be Thranduil’s only problem.

‘Master Oakenshield and I,’ Thranduil announced formally, ‘have agreed that today’s council should begin by setting aside former grievances. In order to do this we will, of course, be discussing some of them. I will expect all at this table to comport themselves appropriately during discussions. We are not children, nor will we act like children. If any here cannot behave like the adults they are, I will expect them to remove themselves. I presume that is a clear enough instruction?’

‘Yes, my lord,’ the various members of his council mumbled in acknowledgement. When Thranduil turned his attention to Thorin, he nodded his head.

‘I had a similar conversation with my own people this morning,’ Thorin declared. ‘They know what is expected.’

‘Good,’ Thranduil responded, ‘then we can begin.’

‘Of the oldest grudges that might be held here,’ Balin quickly spoke, ‘I am afraid we can give no explanation or meaningful comment at all. Our people are not immortal. None among the dwarves are now alive who remember what may have happened in the early days of the world.’

One or two of Thranduil’s advisors seemed ready to dispute this but Thranduil himself agreed readily enough.

‘That is fair,’ he told Balin easily. ‘I would not be able to comment on actions taken by our kin for which I was not present. There is no reason the same idea should not be extended to you and yours.’

‘There are actions which your people must answer for, though,’ one of the elves contributed. ‘Thror was not King under the Mountain so long ago that he can have been forgotten.’

‘No,’ Balin accepted, ‘he was not. Though you would find that only Thorin and myself remember those days now. Master Dori was no more than a child when Erebor fell and none of the others were born until after we became wanderers.’

More than one member of Thranduil’s council seemed taken aback by this news and Bilbo began to chuckle softly at their expressions. When all present looked to him he explained his thoughts readily enough.

‘Little wonder that there are arguments breaking out between the different races,’ Bilbo told them, ‘if we cannot even remember such details as how long we all live. I, too, was once surprised to hear that Ori and Kíli are older than I am, though they are young by the standards of their own people. Prince Legolas, I assume, is also considered to be among the youngest of the elves here and yet I imagine he is hundreds of years older than I or any of my companions. Visiting the sins of the fathers upon the sons is one thing, but by the time they become great-grandsons perhaps the situation needs to be rethought.’

Many who sat at the table were smiling by the time Bilbo had finished. What might have been considered an insult among the members of a broken alliance was merely a thoughtful comment from a relatively neutral party and it was accepted as such.

‘I do believe, Master Baggins,’ Thranduil told him, ‘that we will be grateful of you presence by the end of this meeting.’

‘Well, I always try to please,’ Bilbo assured him with another smile. When the conversation was taken up again, there was a better atmosphere in the room.

‘As Balin said,’ Thorin began, ‘only he and I now remember the days of my grandfather’s rule under the Mountain. As Balin was not much involved in the governance of Erebor, it falls to me to explain what I can.’

Thorin felt the strangest sensation at this point, as if there were someone standing behind him, listening closely to all that was said. He could not turn to look, of course. To suddenly be staring at nothing would not help his cause here. Instead he shrugged the feeling off and continued.

‘Firstly, let me reiterate that which I said to Thranduil yesterday,’ he said, ignoring the slightly confused looks from most of the elves. ‘By the time Smaug came Thror was, incontrovertibly, suffering from a gold-sickness so strong that he had lost all reason. The decisions he made and the actions he took at that time were not in Erebor’s best interests and they were not in the best interests of our allies. My father worked for many years to try and turn Thror’s mind from his more destructive impulses, but by the end of our time in Erebor he was exhausted and defeated. He could not control Thror and I was too young to realise the need for such control. In that, we failed our people and our allies. I apologise for the failure.’

That had been, Thorin admitted to himself, the hardest speech he had ever made in his life. To be forced to admit such things to the elves he had blamed for his people’s misery for so long was galling. Had he gone his entire life without having to do such a thing he would have been happy indeed. However, just when he was beginning to consider simply leaving the room and letting the world take what course it would, he realised what the presence he had felt earlier was.

‘There,’ Mahal’s voice spoke in his head, ‘that is the worst of it over. Whatever they choose to do now you will know that you have done your best and that I am proud. Well done, my child. Well done indeed.’

With that Mahal was gone and Thorin could no longer feel anything out of the ordinary. His attention returned to the discussion at the table but his thoughts were no longer so bleak, nor his temper so short. Let them do their worst. Mahal was right, at least he had tried.

‘That is a generous sentiment, Master Oakenshield,’ Thranduil responded with every appearance of sincerity. ‘Thror and I argued much in those last years and I confess I believed that all of his family were of one mind on such matters. I had no inkling that any disagreement would be found. It is gratifying to know that was not so.’

‘My father sat on Thror’s council during those years, Your Majesty,’ Balin added now. ‘I can assure you that there were a number of disagreements between Thror and his advisors. Unfortunately, the King’s word was law. It seemed they had no choice but to obey.’

‘As it would be in the Woodland Realm,’ Legolas admitted now, ‘should, Maker forbid, such a situation ever arise.’

‘Indeed,’ Thranduil commented. ‘I find that something of a relief, in truth, though I can see why it might not be to others. Hopefully my son will not be too disappointed that my continued existence bars him from the throne.’

‘Live forever,’ Legolas told him playfully, though with a certain amount of sincerity in his tone. ‘I am perfectly happy where I am.’

‘That’s what we keep telling Uncle,’ Fíli said jokingly. ‘At least you have immortality on your side.’

He and Legolas shared a brief smile and Thorin thought yet again that Fíli had a much better handle on diplomacy than he had realised. A well-timed joke certainly worked to forge a link, however slight, between the two groups at the table.

‘For our part, then,’ Thranduil continued, ‘I must express my sorrow at the fate that befell your people. It was a cruel end for a kingdom which had stood so long. I regret that more aid was not offered at the time. As was said yesterday, Thror demanded our aid in regaining the Mountain and we refused for reasons which I hope are obvious. At another time I might have offered other help to your people but I was angry enough that I did not.’

There was, Thorin noted, no clear apology in that statement. Thranduil had very prettily danced around one without ever actually giving it. Despite the temptation to push harder, Thorin decided to accept what he had been given. He could not expect a complete change of attitude in three days. The most important thing, as Mahal’s presence had reminded him, was to move on with their quest and re-forge the alliance.

‘We also offer our regrets for the troubles that have befallen the Woodland Realm,’ Balin said on Thorin’s behalf. ‘Once, I believe, you asked for Erebor’s aid in dealing with the problem and were denied by King Thror. We are a much reduced people now. Many of our best warriors fell during the War with the orcs and we can no longer field so great an army as we would have once. Should the Woodland Realm require aid against the spiders, or even against the greater evil in these lands, however, Erebor would attempt to answer that call. Obviously we would need to get rid of the dragon first,’ Balin added, dropping his more formal tone, ‘but we would do what we could.’

This drew a great many surprised looks from their hosts. It was sad, in a way, that they were so unused to offers of help. Thorin knew how that felt at least. Bilbo was the first person he could remember offering to help the dwarves without having his own agenda.

‘Lord Elrond, too, would offer his aid if it was needed,’ Thorin continued once Balin had finished speaking. ‘He told me he did not have a large force at his command but that he would send such warriors as he did have to your defence if you wished.’

Now, Legolas turned to his father with an eager expression.

‘Father, if we could gain their help,’ he said with some excitement, ‘if we had such fighters as Glorfindel to aid us! We could try to reach the source of the problem at last.’

‘That,’ Thranduil told him repressively, ‘is something that we can discuss with our Captains in the future.’

Clearly Thranduil did not wish to make any decisions about his realm today, Thorin observed. His son’s enthusiasm did suggest that the offer might be accepted though, which would be no bad thing for Thorin’s plans. Perhaps if he borrowed a messenger from Thranduil to send to Elrond himself, they might have more allies at hand when the orcs decided to come visiting.

When they broke to eat the midday meal shortly afterwards, Thorin noted that Legolas moved to speak with Fíli, Kíli and Ori where they were all sat together. The conversation seemed to begin formally, before lightening into the sort of playful banter that Thorin had observed when his nephews were sat with Elrond’s sons. If nothing else, Thorin thought, their younger generations might learn to co-exist peacefully following these negotiations.

‘Well,’ Balin commented as he dropped into a seat beside Thorin, ‘that was a case of much said and nothing decided, I think.’

Dwalin, taking the seat next to his brother, made a sound of agreement. ‘Lots of pretty words,’ he said shortly, ‘but no promises of action.’

‘That may be all we can hope for at this point,’ Thorin reminded them. ‘None of us expected this to turn instantly into close friendship. They are not throwing us in the dungeons yet, that is something at least.’

‘Aye,’ Dwalin acknowledged, ‘and that is something I never expected to see.’ He gestured in the direction of the boys and Legolas, who now seemed to be exchanging stories of some kind, while Ori eyed them all with a bemused tolerance that he had to have learned from Balin.

‘Poor Ori,’ Thorin commented quietly. ‘He does not understand them yet, does he?’

‘He’s getting there,’ Balin reassured him. ‘He thinks they’re strange and slightly wild but he is at least learning to yank on their reins when they go too far.’

The end of this statement had been prompted by Kíli gesturing wildly in the middle of his storytelling and nearly knocking a tray out of the hands of one of the elves who had come to serve, all without ever noticing. Ori reached forward and thumped him on the chest gesturing towards the elf, who had just managed to rebalance the tray, and clearly scolding firmly. Shamefaced, Kíli offered his apologies and luckily the matter was dropped, though Legolas was smirking slightly.

‘You’re training him to be a steward, not a scribe,’ Thorin realised suddenly, the thoughts spilling out in words. ‘You intend for him to serve Fíli as you have served me.’

‘So I do,’ Balin said, smiling slyly. ‘I had a bet going with Nori about how long it would take you to notice. He owes me money. Though Fíli has not yet noticed so Nori may win yet. Ori will do well in the position. He has a sensible head on his shoulders, though he still gets carried away sometimes, and he’s not afraid to tell the lads when they’re being ridiculous. Excellent qualities in a steward.’

‘You’re as sneaky as a match-making mother,’ Thorin told him with some admiration.

‘Hmph,’ Balin snorted, ‘I am a great deal more subtle, I’ll have you know.’

‘True,’ Dwalin interjected, speaking mostly to Thorin. ‘None of the mothers ever managed to catch you out and Balin does it all the time.’

‘I can only be thankful he is mostly on my side then,’ Thorin responded.

The rest of the meal passed in idle conversation and when the meeting recommenced, the younger members of the party separated on friendlier terms than they had been that morning.

‘I think we have said all that needs to be said of old quarrels,’ Thranduil proclaimed, much to Thorin’s relief. ‘It remains only to complete our discussions about Master Oakenshield’s quest to slay the dragon.’

‘I still say Smaug is best off where he is,’ the most irritating of Thranduil’s advisors declared. ‘There is no saying he will choose to rouse himself when he has been content there for so long.’

‘Except that eventually he will get hungry,’ Bofur argued. ‘A dragon doesn’t strike me as the kind of creature to deny himself food if he wants it.’

This caused a number of heads around the room to nod in agreement, notably Legolas and Captain Tauriel’s.

‘Though I would never have suggested it myself,’ Tauriel contributed, ‘attempting to take the dragon by surprise does now seem the best option. Certainly a frontal attack when he emerges from the Mountain would have little chance of success.’

Thorin briefly considered sending the irksome advisor a gift instead of killing him. It would seem that the more he argued against Thorin’s plans, the more others among the elven party began to agree with them.

‘I truly believe that we have no other good option,’ Thorin stated. ‘Nor will we ever be better equipped to deal with Smaug. In just over a month’s time, Durin’s Day will be upon us and my Company and I will be able to enter Erebor via a door which is otherwise closed to us. Smaug has no knowledge of this door and, I hope, no knowledge of our plans. It is the closest we will come to surprising him.’

‘I am willing to consider your plans for Erebor itself to be your own business,’ Thranduil said with a subtle signal in Fíli’s direction. ‘I would, however, speak more of this idea for housing the men of Esgaroth in my kingdom.’

‘It is the only possible solution that I could think of,’ Thorin responded gravely. ‘Their town is, from what I have heard, entirely made of wood. Should Smaug turn his attention to it the town would not last a minute. Our only option seems to be removing the population and sending them elsewhere for safety. In other times they would have retreated inside Erebor, but obviously that is not an option at this point.’

Thranduil turned to the elf who sat at his left hand and spoke to him briefly in hushed tones. Legolas interposed a comment from his father’s right, reminding Thorin of their elven hearing. He would need to bear that in mind if he needed to talk to his own people. The elves might end up hearing Khuzdul after all. When they had finished conversing, Thranduil turned to Thorin once more.

‘Such an undertaking is a logical one,’ Thranduil affirmed. ‘To remove the innocent from the range of the dragon is admirable. It is also, unfortunately, not a plan that we can agree on behalf of the Men. They will doubtless have their own thoughts. It is also not one that the Woodland Realm can readily afford. Housing and feeding such a number is an expensive business.’

Here it is, Thorin thought to himself. I wondered how long it would take us to get to this part. Thranduil was proving remarkably reasonable this day, but he knew what he wished for and he was not averse to making concessions as long as they would help his cause.

‘A moment, if you please, Thranduil,’ Thorin requested as politely as he could, deliberately using Thranduil’s name to remind the elf that they were on the same level.

‘Of course,’ Thranduil answered magnanimously, making another of the sweeping hand gestures he was so fond of.

Turning, Thorin gestured his Company in closer to confer with them.

«««

‘That was to be expected,’ Gloin said first, speaking deliberately in their own language. ‘Everything in this world has a price.’

‘Yes,’ Balin agreed. ‘It is our duty to decide if the price is a fair one however. Particularly as we have no idea of the scope of Erebor’s resources until we arrive there.’

‘There was something Elrond suggested inadvertently,’ Thorin informed them. ‘A set of jewels which my grandfather once taunted Thranduil with when he came to Erebor. They were brilliant white and nearly shining from what I saw. Thranduil certainly coveted them. The look on his face when Thror had them removed was… unpleasant.’

‘White, shining gems…’ Bofur muttered. ‘They must be rarer than hen’s teeth for I never heard of such in Ered Luin.’

‘There were many things in Erebor that we never saw in Ered Luin,’ Dori told him quietly. ‘I do not remember much but the markets were full of items I have not seen since.’

‘If they are still within the hoard then they would be a good payment for Thranduil’s help,’ Balin added.

‘I have not the faintest idea what any of you are saying, you realise,’ Bilbo suddenly chimed in, his voice a mix of amusement and frustration.

‘Oops,’ Bofur said with an exaggerated display of shame. ‘Not doing my job properly.’ He quickly updated Bilbo on what had been said while the others chatted inanely to try and drown the translation out. Bilbo nodded seriously at the end of Bofur’s account before putting forward his own idea.

‘Wonderful as they sound,’ Bilbo informed the dwarves in a whisper, ‘such gems as those will not solve the practical problem for Thranduil’s people. If they use up their stores of food now they will need to buy more over the winter. It may be that most of their food comes from the Men anyway, in which case they could just negotiate a lower price. If Erebor needs to buy food as well, though, some will need to be imported from farther afield. For that they will likely need actual money, not jewels.’

Glóin added his agreement to that statement and most of the Company accepted the idea quickly. They had grown used to listening to Bilbo on such practical matters anyway and, as Fíli pointed out, ‘We had set aside a portion of the treasure for the elves anyway. Whether we promise it now or gift it later makes little difference.’

That decided, they retook their seats. Thranduil and his council had been politely pretending not to listen to the discussion but gave their attention to the dwarves once more.

‘Obviously we understand the strain that your aid with Esgaroth, if they agreed, would place upon the Woodland Realm,’ Balin imparted at Thorin’s direction. ‘We have every reason to believe that Erebor’s treasury is as extensive as it was before we were driven out. Should an agreement be reached, and should our kingdom be successfully returned to us, we would be happy to compensate the Woodland Realm for its assistance and also to make a gift of certain items as a show of good faith.’

‘That would be a generous offer,’ Thranduil said, not quite masking his interest in their proposal.

‘Generous, perhaps, if we had any idea of what such a gift would be,’ the elf Thorin assumed to be Thranduil’s steward commented. ‘After all, who knows how much of the wealth stored in Erebor rightfully belongs to others. Thror’s dealings with his allies were not as honest as one would expect.’

‘You accuse my grandfather of theft?’ Thorin asked, knowing that ire was clear in his voice. ‘Greed brought on by gold sickness I might allow but theft is an accusation you had best have proof of!’

‘The wealth to be found within Erebor should be proof enough,’ another of the elves added. ‘No one king amasses so much treasure in such a short space of time honestly.’

‘You mean that no elven king does,’ Glóin argued back, raising his voice. ‘Dwarves do not have to get all of their precious items from others. We can make what we wish.’

‘If they were all made by Thror’s people then he must have had slaves hidden in those mines you are so proud of,’ the elf snapped back. ‘For we never saw any other king manage to produce so many items. Or will you claim that Erebor’s inhabitants worked harder for Thror out of love?’

‘You would do well to mind your tongue,’ Thorin snarled, furious at the insult. It was one thing to speak of holding his temper, he discovered, and quite another thing to do so in the face of such provocation. ‘We came here to talk, not to listen to such idiotic suppositions.’

‘I did not go to Erebor to be taunted and insulted either,’ Thranduil chipped in, staring fiercely at Thorin and ignoring all others, though other arguments seemed to have broken out around them. ‘It was insult I received regardless, treated like a servant in the home of one who was at most my equal.’

‘Oh, of course,’ Thorin answered. ‘Mahal forbid a dwarf should ever be considered an elf’s equal, let alone more than that. The arrogance of your people is greater than anyone realises.’

Just as Thranduil opened his mouth to continue the argument, a shrill whistle split the air. They all stopped and turned and there they saw Bilbo, stood on a chair, glaring fiercely at them.

‘There was an agreement made, was there not,’ he asked them in a tone that would have made a hobbit faunt apologetic in an instant, ‘that all here would act as adults and forgive old wrongs? Which seems strange when I have spent the last few minutes listening to the squabbles of children!’

Silence had fallen and more than one member of each party attempted to subtly retake their seats so that they might escape censure. Thranduil looked as rueful as Thorin felt, caught out by their hobbit as he had never expected to be.

‘I said that we would be thankful for you, Master Baggins,’ Thranduil told him. ‘I was not wrong. Nor are you. Children squabbling indeed.’

Bilbo turned a gimlet eye upon the dwarves now and received a number of mumbles of ‘sorry, Bilbo’ from among the Company. When he caught Thorin’s eye Bilbo let out a huff of irritation, folding his arms and looking more like Dís than Thorin was entirely comfortable with.

‘You,’ Bilbo said firmly, ‘I expected better of.’

‘As did I,’ Thorin responded. ‘My apologies, Bilbo.’

‘I should think so, too,’ the hobbit tutted, climbing down to sit on his chair once more. ‘Now if we could perhaps spend the rest of the afternoon in a _sensible_ discussion, I think there was some mention of payment and a gift made.’

‘So there was,’ Thranduil began. ‘An offer which was generously made.’ At this he turned his eye upon his steward, who did his best to sink into the floor so as to avoid his King’s gaze. ‘Erebor’s wealth was famous for good reasons, none of which involved how it was collected.’

‘It was,’ Thorin concurred, deciding to bait the hook a little more now that the dispute had been laid aside. Thranduil had certainly looked interested enough before they had fallen to arguing. ‘I remember that my grandfather had some gems that ought to have been given to you some months before Smaug appeared. I assumed that those he showed you were not the complete set and that is why they were never given. I would be glad to attempt to find them, once Erebor is retaken, and complete the gift.’

Thranduil’s eyes lit up and they were not the only ones. Whatever those gems had been, they were clearly dear to the people of the Woodland Realm. Thorin could only hope they were not another Arkenstone. The closer he got to Erebor the more he dreaded being faced with that jewel again. To fall to madness once more was not part of his plan.

‘We would be happy to accept,’ Thranduil said. ‘It was a great shame to have such a gift lost to the dragon. Though obviously,’ he added quickly, ‘the loss paled in comparison to the other losses that day.’

‘We are in agreement then?’ Balin asked, leaving a long enough gap that he would not seem too eager. ‘Should Esgaroth be willing, they will be housed here as we try to retake the Mountain?’

‘They will,’ Thranduil responded. ‘There will be much planning to be done, of course, before we can proceed.’

‘Of course,’ Thorin agreed, glad to finally have real progress made. ‘Perhaps tomorrow though,’ he made a point of looking at how far the candles had burned down. ‘It would seem that we have spent much of the day in discussion and I am sure we are all tired.’

‘Certainly,’ Thranduil assented. ‘I will send word to Esgaroth this evening and ask for their leader to join us in our discussions.’

‘If you would be willing to take a less formal route,’ Thorin said hastily, ‘I would rather speak to a descendant of Girion’s. I believe his name is Bard. I have not heard good reports of the Master of Lake-town.’

‘No, nor have I,’ Tauriel agreed unexpectedly. ‘When I sent a patrol there once for supplies they informed me he was a vain and greedy man, more interested in his own power than the good of his people.’

‘By all means then,’ Thranduil said, ‘let us speak to this Bard instead. Greed is such an unattractive trait.’

Ducking his head slightly to avoid Balin’s stern look, Thorin followed Thranduil out of the room and turned back to his own. He was not able to outwit his old friend, though.

‘Thorin,’ Balin said evenly, ‘I do believe it is time that we spoke again. In private, perhaps.’

‘Uh oh,’ Kíli mock-whispered from behind them. ‘Uncle’s in trouble.’

The statement was followed by a yelp and Thorin wondered which of the Company had dealt the slap Kíli had no doubt just suffered.

‘Can we leave the yelling until after dinner?’ Thorin asked Balin somewhat pathetically. ‘I think I’m going to need food first.’

‘Don’t think you’ll be escaping me,’ Balin warned him. ‘If need be I’ll send Dwalin to fetch you and wouldn’t that put a crimp in your attempts to seem dignified before the elves?’

‘Understood,’ Thorin answered, acknowledging the implied threat. It might only be a short reprieve but anything was better than nothing.

««««««


	13. Rise and Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Balin thinks it is high time he got some answers. Thorin fears the consequences those answers might bring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in updating, boring things have interfered with writing time this week. Writing this has been nothing like writing any of the other chapters - my poor brain may well be broken. I can only pray that you all like the result! This has not been beta-read as my usual beta is busy, so if anyone is generous enough to let me know where the inevitable mistakes are, I will try to edit them out :)

Chapter Thirteen: Rise And Fall

Thorin had barely escaped from dinner that night when Balin was at his elbow, determined to drag some answers from him if necessary. Within his own mind, Thorin could admit that a cowardly part of him had considered disappearing towards Thranduil’s quarters and hiding there until it was too late for conversation. The realisation of quite how pathetic he was, wanting to hide behind the skirts of an old enemy just to avoid an old friend, made him pull himself together. The worst that could happen, after all, was that Balin would find out the truth and think him insane. Thorin was fairly certain that Balin had thought him half-mad for years, so things really would not be that different. Or so he told himself.

This time Thorin made sure that they went to his rooms before they began the conversation. If it was to get heated he did not want a random elf suddenly entering to interrupt them. Balin followed him easily enough, but once they were inside the room any hopes that he might let Thorin get away easily were dashed. He had barely seated himself when the interrogation began.

‘In Rivendell,’ Balin said immediately, ‘I allowed you to get away with telling me only what I needed to know then.’

‘Which I appreciated,’ Thorin pointed out wistfully, ‘very much.’

Balin sent him a look which made Thorin feel like a dwarf of ten.

‘Do not try to cozen me, lad,’ he commanded sternly. ‘I have known all of those tricks for far too long!’

‘It was worth a try,’ Thorin told him, and received an irritated flap of Balin’s hand in return.

‘There is no way that you could have worked out the name of Girion’s heir, Thorin. There is no way you could even have been certain that he _had_ an heir. You have not been to this part of the world for so many years his line might have died out long since. So now you will tell me, once and for all, _what is going on_!’

This, Thorin knew, had been coming for quite some time. Balin was no one’s fool and Thorin felt as if he had been tripping up left, right and centre since the quest began. Even so, to hear it said so bluntly somehow shocked him. He scrambled for a moment, trying to find a believable lie. There was none to be found, however. That was the one thing that Mahal had forgotten to factor in to this whole episode. Thorin simply wasn’t a good liar.

‘If we are to discuss this I would have your word on two points, Balin,’ he said instead.

‘Unless it is something which is going to cause harm to you or one of the others you have it,’ Balin replied, still stern but also more exasperated than angry now. ‘Never have I let you down before.’

‘No,’ Thorin said, ‘I do know that, Balin. This is not a simple matter of ruling or diplomacy though. It is… complicated, beyond anything I have ever been involved in.’

‘Thorin I never imagined for a moment that it would be simple,’ Balin answered, some amusement showing through. ‘When is it ever simple with you? I will listen to almost anything at this point, as long as I do not have to spend more weeks trying to find a solution which adds all these different clues together and produces a sensible answer.’

‘I am not sure sensible is what you will get,’ Thorin sighed. ‘Promise me you will not dismiss me and promise me you will tell no one else.’

He waited for Balin’s promise and then paused for a minute or more. This was taking a great deal of courage to say, in the end.

«««

‘I have completed this quest once before,’ he said softly at last. ‘I gathered together this Company, including Bilbo, and headed for Erebor to reclaim the Arkenstone and, alongside it, our kingdom. It was a disaster from start to finish, Balin.’

Balin looked shocked, but not as shocked as Thorin had expected. When Thorin paused he nodded his head briefly.

‘I had a feeling it might be something like that,’ Balin told him. ‘It was not a logical answer but… it explained much that otherwise seemed incredible. Perhaps that means I have lost all of my senses but so it is.’

Relieved not to be dismissed as a lunatic immediately, Thorin decided to tell Balin the rest of it as quickly as he could.

‘I insulted Bilbo within seconds of meeting him,’ he continued, still irritated with his previous self for his idiocy. Dismissing their hobbit out of hand had denied him a good friend just when he needed friends most. ‘I had gone to Dain and the others looking for help and had found none and I was so angry. I called Bilbo a grocer, and made a number of other unflattering comments, and he was not the slightest bit impressed with me. I still have no idea why he joined us,’ Thorin admitted.

‘The others of the Company I dismissed unless they were immediately in front of me or in peril of some kind,’ he continued. ‘I also managed to insult Lord Elrond and we snuck out of Rivendell like thieves in the night. I chose not to wait for Gandalf and when we fell into the goblin town we were without him. Luckily he reappeared in time to save us, though he would never say how he knew we needed saving.

‘When the orcs attacked after we escaped, I charged Azog and managed to get myself seriously injured by his warg without ever doing any real damage to him. Bilbo saved me then; charged the orc Azog had commanded to kill me and killed it instead. He had no training, we had not bothered to give him any, but he risked himself anyway. The eagles arrived as they did this time and we escaped by the skin of our teeth. For a while after that I actually appreciated our burglar for the person he really is.’

‘Thorin,’ Balin said, half-sympathetic and half-despairing.

‘Hopeless, am I not?’ Thorin found himself asking, shaking his head contemptuously at his own idiocy. ‘All these brave dwarves before me, gifted with so excellent a hobbit as a companion, and all I did was take their service as my due as a king of the Line of Durin. Stupid fool!’

‘There’s no point cursing yourself for it now, laddie,’ Balin told him oh-so-gently. ‘It was done and has presumably been undone – somehow.’

If he lived ten lifetimes Thorin did not think he would stop cursing himself for what had happened the first time around. So much ill had befallen his Company that he could have prevented and he would never, ever forgive himself for Fíli and Kíli’s deaths. Had Mahal’s words fallen upon his ears while they still lived, likely he would have clung to his anger and his hate and never received the chance to try again. There was nothing he would not do to save the boys, however. He would treat with every elven and human lord who ever lived if it would keep his sister-sons alive.

«««

‘It was Mahal who undid what had happened,’ he told Balin. ‘He feared that my stubbornness and foolish refusal to see sense had cursed our race as well as my line. He told me I was to undo it all, if he gave me a second chance, and that to do so I had to see that we took our place among the races of Middle Earth, rather than keeping ourselves separate from them.’

‘Mahal!’ Balin exclaimed disbelievingly. ‘You are telling me that our creator himself decided to change history?’

Thorin snorted his own disbelief, momentarily startled out of his self-loathing. ‘You will believe that I have been returned to change the future but not that Mahal would do such a thing?’

‘No… yes… Oh I don’t know Thorin, it is just so _strange_ ,’ Balin tried to explain, shaking his head in frustration. ‘Such things do not happen. Every logical part of me says that what you are speaking is lunacy.’

‘Yet you sat here and listened to me thus far,’ Thorin insisted, feeling impatient with this sudden change of direction. ‘Moments ago you said it explained much.’

‘I know, it did,’ Balin replied, running his hands over his face in frustration. ‘Thorin, I don’t know. You cannot just spring such a thing on me and expect me to accept all easily.’

‘I did not “spring it on you”,’ Thorin muttered sounding, though he would never have admitted it, as sulky as Kíli when he had been scolded for some small offence. ‘You all but dragged me in here and insisted that I tell you!’

‘Oh, stop being logical,’ Balin all but shouted. ‘It’s unnatural. This whole thing is unnatural. Tell me the rest of it then. I very much doubt you were sent back because you were rude to our burglar, however stupid that may have been.’ He glared at Thorin as he said this, making his thoughts about mannerless kings perfectly apparent.

‘Are you going to shout at me again?’ Thorin asked pointedly, still partially angry about Balin’s sudden change of mind and unsettled enough to show it.

‘Not unless you particularly annoy me, no,’ was Balin’s only response. Clearly he was not inclined to apologise and Thorin did not want to start another argument, however irritated he might be. They might as well stick to one at a time.

‘We have talked so often of the gold-sickness in these last few months,’ he said instead, ‘and of the need to keep the men of Esgaroth safe. You can surely guess some of what came next.’

‘Oh, I’m sure I can,’ Balin said with exaggerated patience, ‘but if I am to stop you from hamstringing us this time around best I know how you managed it before. In detail.’

‘You are aware that I have managed to make a number of _good_ decisions this time around?’ Thorin queried with only a thin pretence of mildness.

‘Yes, for which I will thank Mahal himself should I ever get to meet him,’ Balin commented with asperity. Balin’s sarcasm was a great deal more enjoyable to watch when he was inflicting it upon Dwalin or some irritating dignitary, Thorin was reminded. He sincerely hoped that his friend would let go of it sometime soon. Sighing, Thorin admitted to himself that fighting Balin on this would only draw it out, unfairly as he might feel himself treated. He would, as he had once advised Dwalin, have to let it go. For now.

«««

‘We were caught by the spiders in Mirkwood. Bilbo saved us again with his ring, but we were captured by the elves and brought here as prisoners. I insulted and angered Thranduil and he decided that we were to stay in the dungeons to rot. Bilbo got us out and we escaped to Esgaroth in barrels. Don’t ask,’ he added firmly as Balin opened his mouth. ‘It’s best not to think about it.’

Balin nodded agreement and gestured for Thorin to continue his recital, which Thorin chose to take as a good sign.

‘Kíli was injured on the way and I did not properly check on him. When we reached Esgaroth the wound worsened and we were discovered trying to steal arms from the local watch. I made an agreement with the Master of Laketown, much to Bard’s disgust, and we travelled on to the mountain without either of my nephews, or Óin and Bofur.’

As Thorin continued his recitation, he realised yet again how foolish and uncaring he had been. How could he have failed to pay attention to Kíli’s injury? Why had it never occurred to him that the people of Esgaroth would be in terrible danger if Smaug left Erebor? Or had it occurred to him, he wondered darkly, and he just hadn’t cared? Much about that time was muddled in his head now and he could not be entirely sure. Shaking his head sharply to try and clear it of such thoughts, he took up his tale again.

‘When we got inside the Mountain, again thanks to Bilbo, I went gold-mad. I was so fixated on the Arkenstone that I terrified Bilbo and nearly got us all killed. We only avoided that fate because Smaug decided to turn his attention to Esgaroth instead.’

Balin made a speechless, gasping noise and looked at Thorin in horror. ‘He did not,’ Balin said shakily. ‘Thorin tell me he did not burn the town with our lads in it.’

‘Oh, he burned it,’ Thorin said bitterly. ‘Burned and razed to the ground nearly, along with hundreds of the people who lived there. The boys, Óin and Bofur escaped somehow. I never really got the full story. I’m not sure I was in any state to listen to anything but my own insanity by then. They rejoined us and, when Bard and Thranduil arrived at the Mountain with their armies, demanding compensation for the destruction we had caused, the boys stood by as I drew us to the brink of war. All fourteen of us,’ he laughed mockingly, ‘against an entire army. Such a glorious battle it would have been!’

‘Thorin,’ Balin said warningly, crossing to place his hand on Thorin’s shoulder. ‘Just tell it to me as it happened.’

‘Of course,' Thorin responded sourly, 'a catalogue of my failures must make for such fascinating listening.’ He found himself nearly drowning in fury and self-pity now that he had begun thinking on the past as he had not allowed himself to do before. Such feelings were abruptly interrupted when Balin backhanded him across the face.

‘Balin!’ he cried out involuntarily, stunned at his friend’s actions.

‘That is enough,’ Balin told him, voice flat with anger and stare harsh in a way Thorin had rarely seen. This was not the diplomat that he faced, but the warrior that people so rarely remembered was inside Balin. ‘For years I accepted these outbursts of melodrama because it was you, and Mahal knows you have suffered enough over the years to make you as bitter as any five other dwarves. But this is _enough_. After these last months I know you can be better than this. Whatever was done _made_ you better than this and you will not sink back into self-indulgence now! We have a job to do, given to us by our creator no less, and we will see it done as best we can. That means looking forward, not backward. Finish the tale and let us move on.’

For some minutes Thorin said nothing at all, hauling himself back from the brink of the abyss he had approached. He had thought himself so much better than he had been before, he realised. He had been so proud of the dwarf he had become, of the progress he thought he had made. To realise how close his old, resentful, self was to the surface shook him badly. The gold-sickness was not the only thing he had to be wary of, it would seem. Perhaps it was a good thing Balin had found him out after all. Better that Balin be here to administer that slap when it was needed than for Thorin to take up old ways once more.

«««

‘In the end there was no war,’ Thorin resumed. ‘Bilbo stole the Arkenstone from right under my nose as I spent hours in the Treasury, obsessively looking for it. You were all somewhat taken by the treasure, as I recall, so none of you stopped me. Though earlier _you_ had tried to make me see sense. Regardless, Bilbo took the Arkenstone to Thranduil and offered it to him to use as leverage.’

‘He thought that was the best way?’ Balin questioned in confusion, not quite able to envisage their Bilbo doing such a thing.

‘He felt he had no choice,’ Thorin explained, eager to exonerate Bilbo of any wrongdoing. In the past, the hobbit had been blamed quite enough for things that had not been his fault. ‘He had tried to talk to me but I would not listen. When I found out what he had done, I very nearly threw him over the parapet and back down to Bard and Gandalf. Such things I said to him as do not bear repeating. What I would have done had the orcs and goblins not been marching on us I do not know.’

‘Orcs?’ Balin asked incredulously. ‘Where have the orcs come from? Last I heard of them the eagles had saved you.’

‘I am telling the tale out of sequence,’ Thorin admitted with some embarrassment. ‘It is a confusing one and I’ve missed a few bits.’

Balin huffed in response, sounding not unlike a particularly irritated Gandalf. ‘Storytelling was never exactly your specialty. That was why we had Dís.’ Thorin generously decided to ignore this slur upon his skills.

‘The orcs had attacked us as we tried to escape Thranduil and had chased us down the river. I was told that they caught up with those we left behind in Esgaroth but somehow Prince Legolas and Captain Tauriel came to be there and saved them, and healed Kíli in the bargain. And there is no point asking me questions about how that could happen,’ he added hastily when Balin looked ready to return to the point, ‘for I haven’t the slightest idea.’

‘Well it is a good job we are not relying on you to chronicle the journey, isn’t it? It would make little sense to anyone,’ Balin sniped and Thorin found himself sighing like a particularly put upon husband.

‘Balin are we to have these jibes all the way to Erebor?’ he asked with some irritation. They could not seem to decide on a tone for the conversation as they had always done before, Thorin realised. They were both unsettled and neither could work out who was right and who was wrong. It was making for a very uncomfortable conversation and Thorin was fervently wishing that their usual ease would come back.

‘Thorin, you have been hiding things from me for months,’ Balin said, exasperated. ‘You cannot expect to tell the truth and then have all instantly forgiven. That is not how life works.’

‘Would you even have believed me, though?’ Thorin asked him, riled yet again by Balin's own anger. ‘Without all these clues it might have been nothing but the tale of a madman.’ He flung his hands out at the end of this sentence, only to pull them back in sharply and use one to push his hair back out of his face. He could not decide who he was more frustrated with, Balin or himself.

‘I would have tried to believe you, Thorin,’ Balin said, beginning to pace as he often did when annoyed or thinking particularly hard. ‘That is the point – you did not trust me. After years and years of friendship, and service as your steward, you decided you could not trust me with the most important knowledge you have ever possessed. I don’t understand _why_.’

‘Why you and not Dwalin?’ Thorin asked him bluntly.

‘I… I beg your pardon,’ Balin stuttered, taken completely aback.

‘Why you and not your brother, Balin?’ Thorin asked again. ‘How do I choose which of you is more important to me? Or would you have had me tell him as well? If I had told him, why not Dis, Fíli and Kíli, who are equally involved in this tale? Why not all of the Company?’

‘So telling one of us would have meant telling us all?’ Balin queried sceptically. ‘That is what you are saying.’

‘I am saying…’ Thorin paused to think for a moment about what he was actually saying. ‘I am saying that to have one person acting strangely is unusual enough but might be accepted, especially by those who do not know me well. If you were not surprised by my actions, though, it would be clear to Dwalin that you knew something he did not. He would hardly be able to hide his own surprise from the Company. He would not think there was a need to. Soon they would all know there was some secret between us. How would that make them feel? How long before they began to wonder why I could not trust _them_ with whatever it was I had clearly told _you_?’

‘You are telling me now,’ Balin reminded him. ‘Does this mean you will tell all the others?’

‘No,’ Thorin conceded, ‘I will not. I will cling to the hope that they will dismiss this conversation as a scolding about my behaviour in the meeting today or some other matter that you needed to speak to me about. I do not like the idea of what could happen if we all start trying too hard to avoid our own fates. In the end, Balin, I did not tell you because Mahal believed I should not, for exactly that reason, and I took him at his word. It is hard to do anything else with one such as he.’

‘Something tells me that didn’t stop you arguing a great many times,’ Balin told Thorin, deflating slightly as he digested this new knowledge. ‘Why did you not simply tell me so to begin with?’

‘Perhaps I hoped that you would simply trust me and my reasons,’ Thorin replied, unable to resist one last poke at this particular sleeping dragon. The look of utter disdain that he received made him laugh and it did not take long for Balin to join in.

«««

When finally they stopped laughing and stood looking at each relatively seriously, Balin smiled at Thorin once more before shaking his head ruefully. ‘Oh Mahal, what are we going to do with one another? Also, how can I ever use that name this way again knowing what I know now?’

‘Did you think I did not listen when my name was used before?’ Mahal queried dryly from next to them, causing Balin to jump and clasp his chest in shock.

‘Oh my….,’ he said breathlessly. ‘My Lord,’ and then bowed so low his beard nearly touched the floor. Their creator laughed lightly.

‘Now why could you not have reacted like that?’ he asked Thorin with no small amount of amusement.

‘You are far less impressive as a disembodied voice,’ Thorin informed him, only to be laughed at once more. Mahal was nearly as quick to laughter as an elf of Rivendell, Thorin grumbled inside his own head.

‘Well, children of mine,’ the Valar told them slightly more seriously, ‘I will admit that you have managed well enough on this quest of yours so far. I am also generous enough to admit that I am, very occasionally, wrong about something. Master Balin, my apologies, perhaps I should not have discouraged Thorin from speaking to you of what had happened. It is clear from this conversation that you will be a mighty force indeed when it comes to fighting the bad influences in the Mountain.’

‘Thank you, my Lord,’ Balin uttered, ‘I mean, do not concern yourself with it.’

In fact, Balin seemed as if he had very little idea what he was actually saying. He had not taken his eyes from Mahal’s form since he had entered the room.

‘Exactly how often have you been listening in on my conversations?’ Thorin asked suspiciously at that moment, his words overlapping Balin’s.

‘You are most gracious,’ Mahal told Balin with a regal nod, ignoring Thorin with the ease of long practise. ‘Hopefully it will comfort you both to know that Eru is aware of our quest and has approved it as far as possible. I am now going to break unwritten rules one last time. Thorin,’ and now his voice was deadly serious, ‘do not let Bilbo hide that ring. It must come to light but only among those you know you can trust. That is all I can tell but it is _vital_.’

‘It will be done,’ Thorin promised him. ‘I have tried to do all else that you asked of me.’

‘And I am proud beyond measure,’ he was assured, ‘as I told you earlier.’

‘Earlier?’ Balin asked but he did not receive an answer. Mahal was gone once more. Balin seemed dazed still, staring blankly a minute or two longer before he snapped back to the present.

‘That was very, very odd,’ he murmured quietly. Thorin saw him reach forward to the area Mahal had occupied, wave his hand through the air, then slowly shake his head in incredulity. Having done so, he seemed to dismiss what had happened for the time being and returned his attention to Thorin.

«««

‘Orcs,’ Balin spoke, apparently using it as a command. Thorin assumed this meant he was to recommence his account of the past. Before he did so, however, he could not resist pointing out, 'Were you not supposed to be thanking him for something?'

Such a glare as he received then usually meant that serious harm was about to ensue for the recipient. Thorin wisely changed the subject.

‘Some of the orcs must have escaped,’ Thorin started after he remembered where he had left off. 'They returned to their master, Azog,’ he clarified, ‘who was not with them when they attacked in Mirkwood. Azog had been gathering his forces somewhere and they joined with the goblins, who were angry about the Great Goblin’s death and our escape. Together they all marched on Erebor. At Gandalf’s insistence the men and elves joined with them in battle.

‘Dain had arrived by then and he took up arms as well. The long and short of it is that I went into battle with Fíli and Kíli by my side and faced Azog again. He killed the boys whilst they were defending me and then killed me as well. I am told Beorn slew him in the end. Bilbo and I made our peace at the last, but it could not undo what had been done and it could not revive Fíli and Kíli. Only Mahal could do that. I argued with him for some time, in my anger, after he had taken me wherever I was. In the end, though, he had offered a chance to undo their deaths and I could not refuse it. By the time he sent me back I knew him to be right anyway.’

Silence reigned as Balin took all of this in. Thorin felt as if he could hear the seconds ticking by it was so quiet.

‘We are taking part in a quest organised by the creator of our race and sanctioned by the creator of our universe, who gave us life,’ Balin said ponderingly. ‘I am going to need strong ale. _Lots_ of strong ale.’

‘A plan I can thoroughly agree with,’ Thorin responded, entirely relieved to have made it to the end of his tale with sanity, friendship and body parts intact. For a dwarf who had once used words as sparingly as he could, he often felt that he had done little except talk in these past months. He was utterly tired of the whole thing. ‘Let us save any more serious talk for another time. Shall we find Dwalin?’

‘We should find all of them,’ Balin said, suddenly assured once more. ‘What is the point of being the guest of an elven king if you cannot get drunk on his ale?’

‘Does Thranduil even have any ale?’ Thorin wondered aloud, rising from the chair he had been sat in. ‘I have never seen any.’

‘He must do sure….’ Balin was cut off in mid-sentence, arrested mid-motion by the sound of an elven horn.

««««««

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said at the top, writing this was a very unusual experience. I have never added so much to a chapter in so many different read-throughs. Let me know how you thought it worked, if you have the time. I'll be curious to see what people say!


	14. Prices Paid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A common enemy unites elves and dwarves in battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a love/hate relationship with battle scenes. I love watching them (especially Mr Jackson's, which is why I will always love his films no matter how many plot holes he creates for himself) but I hate writing them. Nevertheless, I owed you one so here it is. 
> 
> It is, unfortunately, still suffering from a lack of a beta. Hopefully you will forgive any mistakes. Also, this story is now nearly 80,000 words long - that's actually quite scary considering how far I still have to go!

Chapter Fourteen: Prices Paid

Years of instinct took control as the elven horns sounded the alarm. Balin grabbed his sword from its place by the door and Thorin took his own from beside the chair he had been sat in. They both turned wordlessly and ran through the door, following the elves who were streaming towards the back gate. There had been no major feast this time and the elves had been placed on their guard the day before, so their numbers were far greater than Thorin remembered.

The rest of the Company were spilling out from other doors along the corridor, all armed with their own weapons. Thorin saw Bilbo drawing Sting from its scabbard even as he ran and marvelled at the change that had come over their burglar. He might not be so skilled as others in the Company but he was a fighter now. Never again would he be caught unprepared for battle, so long as he had his blade with him.

‘Thorin, is it the orcs?’ Dwalin shouted as they ran, his eyes scanning each member of the Company as he went. Thorin knew from long experience that Dwalin was checking each of his warriors for readiness and making note of who he needed to keep watch over during the battle. The dwarf’s eyes lingered a moment on Bifur, whose brow was pinched with pain. Bofur was also looking worriedly at his cousin. It would seem that the lies told about Bifur’s wound had some truth in them. Dwalin moved through the group, even as they ran, until he was at Bifur’s side and Thorin felt safe in the knowledge that Dwalin would guard Bifur’s back.

‘It must be,’ Thorin responded, scanning the elves for signs of one who might tell him what was going on. He was extremely surprised to find not only Legolas and Tauriel but also Thranduil, without his usual robes but armed with a sword Thorin had never noticed him wearing. He also held Orcrist in his hand.

‘Thranduil,’ Thorin called out. The Elven King gestured him over and the Company separated from the stream of warriors moving down the corridor.

‘It would seem your orcs are upon us,’ Thranduil said as soon as Thorin was near enough to hear him easily, far more rapidly than his normal manner of speech. ‘They have been sighted along the river by the gate guards. The horn was to tell us that they are close enough to know they have been spotted.’

‘Then we will need to kill them all here,’ Thorin answered, glad for the chance to use his blade instead of words at last.

‘Indeed,’ Thranduil replied. ‘My son reminds me that it is long since I saw battle,’ he continued with no trace of any emotion, ‘so let us see if I still remember how to wield a sword.’

Legolas flushed at this comment, which Thorin realised was the first time he had ever seen an elf blush even slightly. The Prince murmured a comment in his own language, clearly an apology of some kind, but his father brushed it aside.

‘Take this,’ he said quickly, holding Orcrist out to Thorin. ‘Let it do the work it was meant to this day.’

Thorin quickly adjusted the scabbard he already wore to accommodate Orcrist once more, feeling much relieved to have his favourite sword in his hands again.

‘Come then,’ Thranduil said as he did so. ‘Let us greet our visitors in a manner befitting their station.’

‘What’s wrong with saying “Let’s go and kill them”?’ Dwalin groused from behind Thorin. If Thranduil heard him he gave no sign of it.

Together, elves and dwarves strode to the door of Thranduil’s Halls and then out into the light of early evening.

«««

If there was one thing Thorin had never questioned about elves, even in his younger and angrier days, it was their skill in battle. While he would always prefer the comfort of a solid, experienced troop of dwarven soldiers at his back, there was something to be said for the sight of fighters with thousands of years of experience all arrayed together.

The orcs certainly thought so.

The guards on the gate had kept their watch well, but had not placed the reinforcements ordered by their Captain upon the battlements where they could be seen. These elves had instead kept guard on the parapet below, out of sight. The approaching orcs had seen a handful of elves guarding the back gate and considered themselves in luck. As Bolg had promised, there was a way in and they would take advantage of it.

When they heard the horn, mere minutes away from the gate itself, they had felt triumph at this sign of the panic of their enemies. Filled with confidence, especially when the guards on the battlements disappeared, they scrambled over the top of the wall ready for a rout.

The sight that met them, however, was that of a small army gathered in groups along either side of the river, hidden from sight by the walls about the gate. The first few orcs to climb over the wall stopped dead and were nearly trampled by their fellows as they swarmed to the top, eager for battle.

It seemed to Thorin that there was a moment of complete stillness, as the orcs eyed the force gathered to fight them and considered their chances of success. Then a roar of Black Speech was heard from the side and Thorin saw their tall leader shouting commands and flinging his left arm forward. The command was clearly to attack, for the orcs moved once more, charging the elves closest to the gate.

Prepared, armed and in greater numbers than they had been previously, the elves of the Woodland Realm were a far stronger force than the orcs had anticipated. The first wave of orcs fell before they even reached their foes, shot down by archers whose hands moved more quickly than orcish eyes could see.

No battle is ever completely clean, however. Bolg had brought as large a party as he had before and soon battle was raging all down the river banks. The elves around the Company moved forward to close with their enemies and Thorin spotted Thranduil moving deliberately towards the orcish leader. Swiftly Thorin followed and gathered from the sound behind him that some among the Company came were keeping pace with him.

He was right. Bilbo, his nephews, Ori and Bofur had all moved after him, leaving the rest of the Company behind. Bilbo drew up alongside Thorin rather quickly. Sting was still in his hand and his face held the grim look of one ready for what was to come.

‘They have come for you,’ Bilbo said to Thorin sternly. ‘Don’t you dare go pulling any dramatic charges and getting yourself killed.’

‘It is not me you have to worry about,’ Thorin told him, memories of his previous experience close to the surface after his conversation with Balin. ‘If you would protect the Line of Durin, stay close to Kíli. He is still young enough to be rash in battle.’

‘Then it is a good job he is following behind us,’ Bilbo said, before slowing until he was next to the boys. Fíli and Kíli took up positions on either side of their hobbit, clearly planning to protect him with no idea that he was, in fact, determined to act as their protector.

This short conversation was the last moment of quiet before the battle for Thorin and his Company. As they pushed forward to keep up with Thranduil, orcs poured down the rocks to meet them.

Thorin’s first opponent was entirely disappointing. He snarled a challenge and ran forward, blade raised to strike, and Thorin had slit his throat before the orc even had time to register his mistake. Those behind, however, were a cannier bunch. They came forward in a tight-knit group of four, splitting at the last moment to try and surround Thorin and cut him off from help. As Thorin moved to engage the leader of the pack, parrying his strike and having his own parried in return, Bofur and Ori were at his side.

Bofur’s mattock made short work of the right hand orc and he moved swiftly on to the one at the back. Ori had more trouble with the orc on the left, who was smaller and quicker and darted within his reach swiftly. Ori was forced to take two large paces back so that he had room to swing his war-hammer while actually connecting with his enemy, but once he had done so his blow was so strong that the crack of broken bones could be heard and the orc tumbled down the rocks, hitting his head and knocking himself unconscious as he did so.

Thorin’s own opponent was of the heavier, stronger type and used his sword more as a club than a blade, meeting Orcrist with mighty blows meant to break Thorin’s grip on his weapon. As the latest of these crashed into Orcrist, jarring Thorin’s whole body, he was immensely grateful for the years he had spent in his forge and for Dwalin’s insistence that they continue training even as they travelled. He tensed every muscle to hold Orcrist steady and the orc stumbled to a halt when his momentum was abruptly stopped. Quick as lightning, Thorin drew Orcrist back and slashed at the orc’s belly, gutting him before he could strike again.

All across the riverbank the battle ebbed and flowed like the river. In some areas, orcs drew back to regroup. In others, elven fighters hurried forward to support those who were in the thick of the fight. Most of the Company were still near to Thranduil and Legolas, and Captain Tauriel remained as close to her king as she could. As Thranduil struggled to get within reach of the orcs' leader, a group of nearly twenty orcs converged upon him to stop his progress. The Elven King had not lost all of his skill, Thorin could admit. Four of the orcs were dead before they even had time to realise what was happening. The King favoured the ever-moving style of fighting that his son had mastered, one strike flowing into the next without pause. Between the three elves, their attackers were given short shrift.

All this Thorin saw at a glance, just as he saw the orc hiding in the undergrowth nearby, crouched to escape notice and drawing his bow with the arrow aimed at Legolas. Ducking around a pair of orcs making straight for him, Thorin drew his old sword and threw it straight at the archer, the blade sinking into its chest. Thranduil spotted the movement, turned to look, and quickly drew the correct conclusion. He bowed slightly at the waist in Thorin’s direction, then resumed his fight.

Not far away, Fíli, Kíli and Bilbo were proving to be a formidable fighting force in their own right. The brothers shouted jeering insults at the orcs, using the anger of their enemies to draw the orcs away from their stronger position on the higher ground. Those who came running down the hill aimed straight for Thorin’s sister-sons, never noticing the small hobbit standing just off to the side. Once they had been engaged by Fíli, who moved forward to meet them, Bilbo darted in from behind, slashing mostly at their legs but stabbing Sting into their torsos when he could. Meanwhile, Kíli used his bow to pick off those who chose to remain further up.

Others of the Company stood in a circle, facing outwards to meet their foes and using their weapons to great effect. Thorin spotted Balin whipping his sword from side to side in the sweeping strokes that he used, making battle look as effortless as he always did. Bombur pulled away from the rest, who closed the circle quickly. Luring the orcs towards him with stumbling steps and fumbling motions with his battle-spoon, he waited until he was surrounded and then whirled into motion, spinning in place and scattering his foes easily. Óin, too, was knocking his opponents flying, with Glóin then moving in to finish off those orcs who managed to rise, only stunned rather than dead.

Pushing forward steadily, Thorin’s group made their way towards the orcs’ leader. It had quickly become apparent that he preferred to keep back, watching the battle and directing his forces from a height, using the great longbow he held to attack those he decided were the biggest threats. Thorin was closing in on his position when he saw the tall orc begin to draw his bow, eyes not on Thranduil or even Thorin, but focused further down the slope. Thorin, currently without an adversary, turned to follow his line of sight and realised to his horror that the orc was aiming at Kíli.

‘Kíli,’ he heard himself scream impotently, too far from either foe or nephew to aid in any way.

Thorin had not accounted for Bilbo’s promise though. Hearing Thorin’s shout, Bilbo ran forward and tackled the archer at the legs, bringing himself and Kíli down in an untidy pile. The arrow shot straight through where Kíli had once stood, missing its target.

Unfortunately, the evil of a morgul shaft is no less potent because its target is not the one that was intended. Ori had remained behind when Thorin moved forward, engaged in fighting a group of orcs who had moved around the elves further along and were making straight for the Company. He had been to one side of Kíli and the arrow shot straight into the top of his leg. He stumbled, crying out involuntarily, and the orcs he had been battling moved forward, shouting war cries as they went in for the kill.

Luckily for Ori, his older brothers were even more protective in battle than out of it. Never had Dori lost sight of Ori during the fight. Without even pausing he pulled his flail from his belt, swung it and let fly. The orc who had been closest to Ori went down silently, dead before he had time to register the pain inflicted. That was all the time that Nori needed to move across the battlefield and take up position guarding his brother. The circle that the Company had formed broke apart as Bifur, with Dwalin still remaining close, moved to join Nori in defending the youngest of the Company.

Worried as Thorin was for Ori, and despite the horrified, guilty feeling that always struck him when his actions caused injury to one of the Company, Thorin could not continue to watch. Realising that most of his defenders had been killed the leader of the orcs took up his club, found Thorin’s position once more and charged. Thorin found himself standing alone, facing this enemy as once he had faced Azog with none to aid him.

The first impact of the club rattled Thorin’s teeth and felt as if it would break his arm. Orcrist held steady, the skill that had gone into its forging serving Thorin well now, but Thorin’s hand and wrist began to go numb from the force of the blow. Swiftly he backed out of range, trying to draw the orc to flatter ground where Thorin would have more room to manoeuvre. In a test of strength the orc’s greater size and weight would outmatch Thorin’s. He needed to use speed.

Laughing, the orc pursued him, seeing the withdrawal as the retreat of a defeated foe. He raised his club again, swinging it in a great arc meant to cave in the side of Thorin’s head. In this, at least, Thorin’s height aided him. He ducked out of the way quickly and the orc’s own momentum swung him in a quarter-circle. Dashing forward Thorin swung Orcrist at the orc’s legs, feeling no obligation to avoid such dirty tactics. This was a fight for his life, not a battle from the epic tales.

The roar that the orc let out was as furious as it was pained. He stumbled as his leg gave out and only kept his feet by resting his weight on his weapon where it dug into the ground. Taking his advantage, Thorin rushed forward again, aiming this time towards the orc’s heart. Unfortunately he had underestimated the guile of his foe.

The orc had stumbled, yes, but he had also used the move to reach for a barbed dagger he kept at his hip. Dropping to one knee to steady himself, the orc spun as Thorin approached and stabbed at him. Thorin twisted aside at the last minute, warned by a shout from Thranduil, who was now behind Thorin’s enemy fighting a new group of orcs who had come to defend their master. Instead of impaling itself in his stomach, the dagger sliced across Thorin’s ribs, opening a deep wound in his side.

Fighting the instinct to clutch at his wound, using years of training tested in the fire of war, Thorin kept his feet. Rather than curling up as he wanted to, he forced himself to circle back around until he faced his foe once more. Once again overconfidence was the leader’s downfall. Having felt his blade connect with Thorin’s flesh, the orc had assumed he would have a brief reprieve. He had raised his head and tilted it back to call for aid and he never even saw his doom coming. Lifting his sword despite the agony the movement caused him, Thorin swung once with all of his force behind the blow and severed the orc’s head. Having done so, he gave into the urge to drop to the floor.

Across the battlefield the shrieks of the orcs could be heard as they realised that their leader had been defeated. Had Thorin been in less pain he might have wondered at their level of panic. Instead, he saw only that the orcs had broken away from their elven opponents and begun to run back the way they had come.

Thorin vaguely heard Legolas shout in his own language and he saw a large number of elves move to pursue the orcs, led by the Prince and his Captain. Others remained behind and the part of Thorin’s brain which was used to leading in battle assumed that they would dispatch any orcs wounded but not yet dead. With the strange focus of one badly injured, Thorin noted that someone needed to teach Captain Tauriel to open her stride when she ran. This odd train of thought was interrupted by the voices shouting his name. Fíli, Kíli and Bilbo skidded to a halt next to him, hands reaching for him as soon as they stopped.

‘Damn you, Thorin Oakenshield, I thought you said that Kíli was the reckless one,’ Bilbo shouted, pushing Thorin onto his back so that he could look at the King’s injury.

‘Oi!’ Kili protested indignantly, concern momentarily forgotten. It returned almost instantly, though, and Thorin felt his nephew’s hands checking Thorin for any other injuries. Thorin became aware, if only dimly, that he had taken a cut to his arm at some point during the battle which he had not noticed until now. The sound of tearing cloth was the next thing he heard, as Bilbo and Kíli began to staunch his wounds with pieces of their clothing.

Suddenly Fíli was back, startling Thorin who had not realised that he had been gone. With him was Thranduil, unharmed if not quite as perfectly groomed as usual.

‘Let me see,’ the Elven King commanded. Bilbo immediately moved aside and Thranduil assessed the damage swiftly.

‘He will live,’ Thranduil pronounced. ‘The wound will need to be cleaned, stitched and bandaged but he is in no real danger, though I have no doubt it hurts fiercely.’

‘I can deal with this one,’ Óin’s voice said then and Thorin spared a thought to wonder how everyone was creeping up on him. ‘Ori’s wound looks poisoned though and I have not the skill to combat it. The lad is burning up already and we cannot get him to lie still. It is a good thing Dori is so strong. Though much good I am as a healer when I can’t heal half the injuries this Company manages to inflict upon themselves!’

The frustrated snarl in Óin’s voice was the closest that Thorin had ever come to hearing him lose his temper. In another moment he would no doubt have felt sorry for his friend, but currently he was rather busy trying not to let out the moans that wanted to escape. As the battle-haze faded the cuts began to burn like fire.

‘I will see to Master Ori,’ Thranduil told the group then, ‘if he will permit it. Unless I am much mistaken that foul thing was shooting morgul arrows and their cure is more potent in the hands of my kindred. Our healers will know how to aid him.’

At this moment a voice completely unknown to Thorin joined the conversation. Forcing his eyes to focus, Thorin saw an elf with brown hair that seemed tinted with red moving to stand before Thranduil, head bowed.

‘My lord, the healers wish permission to use the chamber nearest to the back gate for their patients,’ the elf said before he had even stopped moving. ‘They say their own rooms are too far away to be practical.’

‘See it done,’ Thranduil commanded him. ‘See also that the young dwarf who was shot is healed as soon as possible. He has orcish poison in his blood and it must be drawn out swiftly.’

‘Yes, my lord,’ the elf replied and ran back in the direction he had come.

Another wave of pain washed over Thorin then and he wondered what filth had been on the orc’s blade that might be within his own wound. Mahal knew that the orcs did not seem the type to bother with caring for their weapons. Despite himself, he moaned aloud and suddenly Thranduil’s face came into view.

‘I am going to carry you,’ Thranduil told him firmly. ‘It will be the quickest way to move you without causing further damage. I will not listen to objections, though I am sure you will feel yourself free to take your revenge once you are healed.’

Before Thorin could fully digest this statement, the floor slipped away and he was being moved back towards Thranduil’s Halls. Blissfully, his body chose this point to give in and he passed out before he had to suffer the indignity of being carried like a child through the many elves that stood between him and a healer.

««««««


	15. Good Signs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things will have to give if the quest is to get underway once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I feel like I have been gone for ages, not just three days. Which probably says something about how much free time I had up until last week. Anyway, thank you for all comments, kudos and bookmarks. AO3 also tells me I have subscriptions - unless someone is about to start sending me magazines, I assume that means people are following this story, so thank you for those as well :) Here, have a chapter.

Chapter Fifteen: Good Signs

Waking from unconsciousness always made Thorin tense. If he had been sleeping it took him only seconds to verify that everything around him was as it should be and he was safe. To have moved locations or missed a large part of a day without intending to was disorienting. His hand moved instinctively to the sword he was sure he should be wearing and found instead blankets. He began to open his eyes to check his surroundings and they were too heavy to move. Instinctively he began to brace himself, trying to pull himself upright so he was not so vulnerable.

‘Oh stop it, you idiot!’ Dwalin’s voice snapped. ‘You’re in Thranduil’s palace getting your fool self healed. No one’s going to attack you.’

Thorin allowed himself to slump back onto whatever surface he was lying on. If Dwalin was here then he had, indeed, been injured and needed healing. Dwalin was never far away if that was the case.

‘Better,’ Dwalin said, voice even more like a growl than normal. ‘Don’t even think about moving until someone who knows what they’re doing has had a look at you.’

There was the sound of chair legs scraping on the floor and then Dwalin’s thudding footsteps moved away. He had gone to get a healer then, Thorin decided. That was good. That meant Thorin didn’t have to try and do anything requiring effort. The wounds no longer burned as they had before but he was so tired it was hard to think let alone move.

At the sound of Dwalin’s footsteps returning accompanied by another, far lighter, set, Thorin tried to focus on what was happening more clearly. He had been injured, that was clear. Dwalin had mentioned Thranduil, which would make sense. Thranduil had been there at the battle, they were at his home. Something niggled at the back of Thorin’s mind. Something important that he needed to know before anything else happened… what was it? Damnit, something important…

‘Ori!’ Thorin said suddenly, though it was rather more garbled than he had intended.

‘I’d worry that you’d taken a hit to the head if I didn’t know your mind had always been scrambled,’ Dwalin groused. ‘I don’t sound anything like Ori.’

‘Is Ori alright?’ Thorin said, more than slightly irritated. Dwalin knew exactly what he wanted to know. He wasn’t half as stupid as he liked people to think he was.

‘Open your eyes and maybe I’ll tell you,’ was Dwalin’s response. Thorin nearly sighed. This was clearly going to be one of those times when Dwalin got tetchy just because Thorin was slightly injured.

‘Master Ori is recovering from his wound,’ a light voice said from very close to Thorin. ‘Our best healers have cleaned the poison from his body and he is in no danger. He will take some time to truly heal but he will be fine.’

‘Damnit, lad, you’re not supposed to make it that easy on him,’ Dwalin said. Thorin, realising that there was someone far more reasonable nearby, ignored him. Apparently the healer did as well. Thorin could feel the covers being drawn away from his side, which he had now remembered was where he had been hurt. Cursed orcs and their foul weapons.

‘Others?’ he asked, trying to aim the question at the healer somehow without actually moving or opening his eyes.

‘I am afraid I must agree with Master Dwalin at this point,’ the healer replied. ‘You will get more information once your eyes are open.’

Thorin was fairly certain that the noise he made was neither polite nor particularly mature, though he would deny until he died that he did anything so pathetic as whining.

‘There is no reason why you cannot do so,’ the healer said with a patient tone that would become as annoying as Dwalin’s moaning very soon. ‘There is nothing wrong with your eyes.’

‘Tired,’ Thorin found himself grumbling childishly. Something about the childishness of his tone suddenly reminded him of how he had come to be here. Carried by an elf. By _Thranduil_ of all people. Oh, that was it. He wasn’t opening his eyes. He was going to die right here of shame. How could the others do that to him? He would never be able to talk to the other King again.

Apparently there had been some expression or noise to go along with these thoughts, for suddenly Thorin could hear Dwalin sniggering evilly from next to him.

‘Come back to you now, hasn’t it?’ Dwalin said, grin audible in his voice. ‘Carried like a wee babe by an elf, you pathetic excuse for a dwarf.’

‘Master Dwalin, unless you have anything useful to add, perhaps you might find yourself something to do – elsewhere!’

The healer’s voice was strict and forceful. Thorin allowed himself a smile as he heard Dwalin stomp off, muttering about prissy elves and their bossy healers. Thorin was less amused to hear the same tone directed at himself.

‘Eyes open, Master Oakenshield,’ the healer commanded. ‘Or I will go and find the King and inform him that his patient needs to be moved elsewhere. Perhaps to the other side of our halls, past every one of my kin that he can find.’

That, Thorin decided, was just cheating. With a snarl, he forced his eyes open and glared as fiercely as he could at the insolent extortionist.

What he saw was an elf who was clearly closer in kinship to Captain Tauriel than Thranduil, with the same red hair that the Captain possessed. He looked young but then so did all elves, Thorin thought. He certainly did not look like the type to play tyrant but he was doing well enough, so perhaps he did this a lot.

‘Much better,’ the elf said airily, completely ignoring Thorin’s glare. ‘I believe that you are entirely healed, though you will be tired for a few days yet. Such healing takes a toll on the body.’

Thorin very maturely said nothing in response to this comment, still attempting to set the elf ablaze with the force of his glare. The complete lack of a reaction made Thorin wonder if lack of practise was making him less effective. In Ered Luin dwarves would have been diving out of his way in response to that glare.

‘Well, you seem to be perfectly fine except for your temper,’ the elf continued, apparently oblivious. ‘I shall allow your visitors in.’

Thorin opened his mouth to say that he would much prefer not to see anyone and was planning to go back to sleep but the healer was already gone. Less than a minute later, a small army was at Thorin’s bedside. Like the brave warrior he was, Thorin closed his eyes again and pretended to be asleep.

‘Oh,’ he heard Bilbo’s say worriedly. ‘It looks like he’s gone back to sleep. Perhaps we could come back…’

‘Don’t let him fool you, laddie,’ Balin said firmly. ‘If he was sleeping you’d be able to hear the snoring from outside.’

Then - horrible, treacherous betrayer that he was - Balin grabbed the bottom of Thorin’s foot and ran his finger along it. Thorin did not do anything as unmanly as squeak, he assured himself. It was merely a noise of displeasure.

‘Serves you right,’ Balin told him snippily. ‘That’s what you get for scaring us like that.’

Clearly, pretending to be asleep was no longer an option. Thorin forced his eyes back open and resumed glaring. Not even Bilbo seemed in the slightest bit concerned. He was most definitely losing his touch.

‘Is there a reason you are stopping me from trying to sleep?’ he asked, sounding rather more gravelly than he had expected. He had thought his voice would be clear by now.

Bilbo, kind hobbit that he was, immediately got a cup of water off the table for him. Thorin thanked him whilst studiously ignoring Balin, Fíli and Kíli.

‘You were hurt, Uncle,’ Kíli said quietly. ‘We were worried.’

Oh, well, now he just felt like a terrible person, Thorin thought. He eyed his nephew closely, looking for any hint that this was a ploy to make him feel guilty. All he could see on Kíli’s face, however, was concern and uncertainty.

‘I’m perfectly fine,’ Thorin told him, voice more gruff than he had intended it to be. ‘It was only a graze.’

‘There was a lot of blood,’ Fíli said then, sounding far younger than he actually was. Anyone would think, Thorin noted, that this was a different person than the one who had stopped Thranduil’s guards dead in their tracks.

‘Some wounds bleed far more dramatically than others,’ Thorin told him, trying not to sound so irritated. He had not expected the boys to be so worried. Surely this was not the first time they had seen him hurt?

‘Oh,’ Fíli answered. ‘Dwalin was shouting about you going and getting yourself mortally wounded when he wasn’t there to protect you. We thought….’

‘Oh for Mahal’s sake,’ Thorin snapped, regretting it instantly when the boys winced. ‘Dwalin needs to stop acting as if he is a player on the stage. I was not mortally wounded. He was having a temper tantrum, that is all.’

Suddenly his sister-sons were all smiles. Thorin was going to clout Dwalin as hard as he could when he got out of this bed. Imagine letting the lads think he was seriously injured.

‘If you weren’t though,’ Kíli said slyly, ‘why did King Thranduil have to carry you in here like a maiden in the old tales?’

All of Thorin’s sympathy evaporated instantly. He returned to glaring at his visitors, trying to ignore the fact that Balin and Bilbo were both hiding smiles behind their hands.

‘Thranduil,’ Thorin informed his nephew regally, ‘took advantage of the wounded to entertain himself. Which is exactly the sort of shameful behaviour one would expect from elves!’

‘Now, now, Thorin,’ Balin scolded in between snorts of laughter, ‘we are supposed to be strengthening alliances are we not? Surely you cannot,’ here Balin’s laughter got the better of him for a moment and he paused until he had it under control, ‘cannot accuse an ally of such treachery.’

A multitude of responses entered Thorin’s mind at this point, not one of them polite enough for mixed company or the ears of their elven hosts. Luckily Bilbo chose that moment to intervene.

‘We are glad to see that you are well,’ he told Thorin, making a clear effort not to smile. ‘The Company have been worried about having you and Ori both unconscious. They will be relieved to see you awake.’

‘He is well?’ Thorin asked then, feeling slightly ashamed that he had not checked this as soon as they arrived. Of course the healer had told him Ori was fine but the lad had been hurt because of Thorin, he should at least have checked. ‘I should have….’

At this point, Thorin trailed off, not exactly sure what he should have done. Something that would have prevented the youngest member of their Company from being struck by that arrow, certainly.

‘He will be fine,’ Balin assured Thorin, mirth firmly under control. ‘The healers have removed all of the poison and say he will sleep deeply for some hours yet as the rest of the fever clears. He is in no danger, though he will not be comfortable when he wakes I am sure.’

‘I should have warned him,’ Thorin told Balin seriously. ‘If I had….’

‘Boys, could I have a moment with your uncle, please?’ Balin requested, his demeanour making it perfectly clear that it was not actually a request at all.

Fíli and Kíli turned immediately, loathe to put themselves in Balin’s line of sight when he was using that tone. Bilbo, sensing something amiss, followed after them swiftly. Once they were sufficiently out of range, Balin lowered his voice and spoke sternly.

‘Thorin Oakenshield, I had hoped that we would not have to have this conversation,’ Balin said balefully.

‘I know,’ Thorin responded miserably, twisting his blanket between his fingers. He had been so foolish. Why had he not checked what was going on around him more closely? Why had he not reached that damned orc sooner and dealt with him before he had chance to hurt anyone? No wonder Balin was irritated.

‘What would have happened if you had not shouted to Kíli?’ Balin demanded.

That was… not what Thorin had been expecting Balin to say. If he had not called to Kíli then Bilbo would not have tried to move him out of the way, obviously.

‘Who would have been hurt, Thorin?’ Balin asked impatiently after a moment.

‘Kíli,’ Thorin said in confusion. What did this have to do with Thorin’s failure to properly protect Ori?

‘So, if Ori had not been hit by the arrow, Kíli would have been,’ Balin stated. ‘How exactly is that better than Ori being hurt?’

‘It is not,’ Thorin snapped, exasperated. ‘I should not have let either of them get hurt!’

‘Oh, of course,’ Balin announced sarcastically. ‘You should have managed to protect every member of the Company during battle. I had forgotten that you were, in fact, capable of performing great feats of magic. Or am I underestimating? Are the injured elves also your fault?’

‘You’re being ridiculous,’ Thorin growled, out of patience with Balin’s mockery. ‘I am not talking about protecting everyone, but if I had dealt with that orc sooner then this would not have happened.’

‘Why you?’ Balin snapped back. ‘Why not Thranduil? He was closer than you were when the arrow was shot, if Bilbo is to be believed. Why did he not deal with the orc?’

‘It is not the same, Balin,’ Thorin argued. ‘Thranduil had no idea what was coming.’

‘Ah, of course,’ Balin said, now infuriatingly insincere, ‘I had forgotten that you had lived through this battle before, when you were such good friends with Thranduil that you fought alongside him against the orc attack.’

‘Balin!’ Thorin snarled. ‘For Mahal’s sake….’

‘No, Thorin,’ Balin all-but-shouted, quieting quickly when heads around the room turned to look at them. ‘You will listen to me. There was no way of knowing what would happen this time round. It was a battle, sometimes in battle – oftentimes, in fact – people get hurt! You were hurt as well, does that mean Dwalin is right to be blaming himself for staying with Bifur rather than making sure he was near you?’

‘Dwalin is what?’ Thorin asked, astonished. ‘What an idiot! Bifur was not well, he should not have been left to fight alone.’

‘And Kili was threatened, so of course he had to be warned. That Ori happened to be standing behind him was sheer bad luck, nothing more. If you expect to be able to prevent every small mishap on this journey, Thorin, you had best prepare yourself for disappointment.’

‘I do not imagine Dori would agree with you,’ Thorin replied dourly, thinking of the fury Dori reached when his brothers were harmed.

‘Dori,’ Balin said irritably, ‘believes that this is entirely his fault for allowing Ori to come on this quest or enter a battle. I would have been having this conversation with him, but thankfully Nori is perfectly capable of telling him when he is being an utter idiot without my help. I am expecting you to deal with Dwalin, by the way, for I have not the patience for it.’

‘So that is it?’ Thorin asked sharply. ‘You say that it is not so, so it cannot be otherwise.’

Balin opened his mouth to reply and then almost immediately snapped it shut again. He took several audible breaths while Thorin sat waiting for his reply. Eventually it came.

‘Thorin, do you trust me?’

Thorin was indignant. They had only had this conversation a few hours ago (well, possibly longer, he was not entirely sure how long he had been unconscious). He opened his mouth to say so and Balin held up his hand.

‘You have told me that you do, yes,’ Balin admitted. ‘Yet, I tell you that this is not your fault and you refuse to believe me. So, is my advice only good when it agrees with what you already believe? For if that is true you might as well have left me in Ered Luin to help Dís govern.’

Several replies came to mind, each angrier than the next. The blankets, had they been animate, would have choked in the stranglehold he had on them. He had taken Balin’s advice for years, even before he had become King. Why was Balin suddenly determined to have such discussions with him? He had never bothered with them before. If, in the back of his mind, the idea formed that Balin had not bothered because he had known Thorin would dismiss him out of hand, Thorin determinedly ignored it.

That Balin spoke first in this silent battle of wills owed more to his greater wisdom than Thorin’s rectitude.

‘Thorin, I will guide you as well as I am able all the years of my life,’ Balin said quietly. He sounded exhausted to Thorin’s ears and guilt over his friend’s weariness joined guilt over Ori’s wounds, and Bilbo’s before him. ‘I have devoted my entire life to the Kings of Erebor and only once regretted it. That was the day we sat amidst the corpses of our friends and family at Azanulbizar. For that day I knew, with absolute surety, that I could have given Thror good advice until Durin came once more among us and still I would have been ignored. I have not the energy to tread that path again. If you will not listen, tell me now and when Erebor is retaken I shall place Ori as steward and become a scribe instead.’

Thorin could scarcely understand what he was hearing. Where was this coming from? All his life Balin had been beside him, even as children. His secrets and hopes and dreams had been Balin’s as well and rarely had they been separated for more than a year at a time. Now, Balin spoke of putting a wall between them. He could hardly fathom such a reality.

‘You would do that?’ Thorin asked incredulously. ‘Over this? You did not…’

‘Did not do so last time, even as you brought us to the brink of war?’ Balin asked and received a nod as his answer. ‘I cannot say exactly why,’ he informed Thorin. ‘I am not he who stood with you under our Mountain once more. Yet, I think if I had been him, perhaps I would already have given up hope of being listened to. It does not sound as if you took much advice the first time we made this journey.'

That, Thorin had to admit, was true. Balin had advised politeness at Rivendell, waiting for Gandalf in the Misty Mountains, diplomacy when dealing with Thranduil and caution at Erebor. He had scolded Thorin more than once for his dismissal of the rest of the Company. In truth, Thorin had followed Balin’s advice as much as Mahal’s in this second chance he had been granted. Had Balin given up by the time Smaug was slain? Thorin did not know either but he had to admit that it was possible.

‘It is that important to you?’ Thorin asked finally. ‘That I believe that Ori’s wound could not have been stopped?’

‘It is important to me that you believe that some knowledge of the future does not confer upon you the power to right every wrong that could come to pass,’ Balin responded. ‘It is important to know that you will not try to take the weight of all the world upon yourself. Thorin, we might yet cause untold damage when we reach Erebor. We cannot predict a dragon. We may… we may lose Bilbo, if things go wrong. If you are to assume all the blame for that, with no more chances to change what has come to pass, the only path I can see leads to a bitterness that would rival Thror’s. I do not wish to serve such a king again.’

‘I cannot change my feelings and thoughts simply because you will it,’ Thorin told him bleakly, wondering if he would lose Balin to this inability. He wished, for once, that he was the sort of person who could reach out and grab hold of Balin’s hand to keep him near. He had ever waited for others to come to him, though, in the situations where such emotion could not be dismissed as teasing. The hug he had given Bilbo had been an exception, brought on by sheer relief.

‘I do not expect you to,’ Balin answered, and Thorin nearly gasped as a similar level of relief rushed through him. ‘I expect that you will try, though. I expect you to _listen_ , not block your ears because you do not wish to hear. Can you do that?’

‘I can try,’ Thorin told him earnestly.

‘Then all is well,’ Balin said, trying to smile lightly, ‘and I will not have to drive Ori to tears by throwing him into the forge of dwarven politics just yet.’

‘You will tell me when he wakes?’ Thorin asked then, still unable to be completely reassured until he knew their scribe was conscious and healing.

‘I will,’ Balin agreed. ‘Though I stand by my threat to make you deal with Dwalin. It should at least be easier than dealing with you. Prove that you are well by hitting him a few times and growling at him convincingly and he should be persuaded to forget his misplaced guilt.’

Thorin laughed involuntarily, knowing that this was a truer reflection of his relationship with Dwalin than either of them would have admitted. They teased and punched and grumbled and, as long as they _could_ do all that, they considered all right with the world. Shaking his head, Thorin finally relaxed his grip on his much-abused blankets.

‘I will tell him you said that,’ he threatened Balin.

‘By all means,’ Balin said generously. ‘In fact, I do believe he is coming back this way, so I will leave the two of you to grunt at each other to your heart’s content.’

Balin rose and, pausing only to punch Dwalin himself, left the room. Thorin groaned at the thought of yet another conversation that might approach the topic of his feelings and wondered if a sudden lack of consciousness was too much to ask for.

«««

Dwalin did not look in a better mood than he had been when he left, Thorin noted. He could only hope this was a part of Dwalin’s plan to punish him for his injury, rather than true anger. Thorin really did not think that he could handle another argument. Exhaustion was dragging him back towards sleep insistently and, while his side was not as bad as it had been, the wound was very uncomfortable still.

Thankfully, it seemed Thorin was to be granted this mercy at least. Dwalin looked at him as if he were a weapon that had to be judged fit for battle, then gave a snort of disgust.

‘Put you through the wringer, did he?’ Dwalin said dryly.

‘If I’d been wrung out any better you could hang me on the line to dry,’ Thorin found himself replying.

‘Hmph!’ was Dwalin’s response. He pulled the chair he’d been using towards the bed and sat on it heavily, ignoring the squeak it gave under his weight. ‘You’ve been scolded more soundly than I could manage then. Do it again and I’ll kill you myself and spare the orcs the trouble.’

‘I don’t actually do these things deliberately, Dwalin,’ Thorin could not resist telling him. Much as he was eager to let the subject drop and go back to sleep, he had enough pride to object at being blamed for something he could not help. The irony of this did not escape him.

‘So you say,’ Dwalin answered, but he seemed to be willing to let it go at that. His next comment was far more typical of their normal post-battle discussions.

‘Fíli and Nori will need to work more with Bilbo,’ Dwalin pronounced. ‘The lad did well enough but he still pauses sometimes before he strikes and we need to train him out of it.’

‘He did very well,’ Thorin argued. ‘We may not be able to train the hesitation out of him, Dwalin. He is a gentle soul. He may never be entirely comfortable with killing.’

‘Maybe not,’ Dwalin responded, not budging an inch, ‘but if we do not try we’ll be failing him. One day that hesitation may get him killed.’

Dwalin was right, loathe as Thorin was to admit it. Protecting Bilbo now would not help him against Smaug. Even so, Thorin was not sure how much they would be able to do about it.

‘Can he be trained not to?’ Thorin said, thinking aloud more than truly asking. ‘We both know that no amount of training is a true substitute for the reality of battle.’

‘No, it’s not,’ Dwalin replied, probably thinking of his first battle just as Thorin was. Nothing really prepared you for the reality of having to kill something. ‘The best we can do is make the movements instinctive and hope that instinct takes over. I’ll be doing the same with Ori when he recovers. He had the same problem.’

Dwalin’s voice was solemn when he said this and his expression was so deliberately blank that Thorin was immediately suspicious.

‘Ori _is_ recovering?’ Thorin asked quickly.

‘Aye, he’s fine, don’t you worry about that,’ Dwalin answered equally quickly.

‘Then why the blank expression?’ Thorin questioned. Something was definitely not right here. Thorin found himself tilting his head sideways, as if somehow altering the angle would show him what Dwalin was hiding.

‘Don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Dwalin replied mulishly. Thorin moved to pull his hair out of his face, frustrated at such an obvious lie, only to wince when his arm reminded him that he had been injured there as well. Only chance allowed him to catch a glimpse of the guilt in Dwalin’s eyes and suddenly a number of things clicked into place.

‘Blaming yourself for Ori as well as me?’ Thorin asked Dwalin bluntly. ‘Balin would be fuming.’

‘’Tis no business of Balin’s,’ Dwalin responded, arms folded defensively across his chest. ‘Nor yours, for that matter.’ It would have been more convincing if Dwalin hadn’t been shifting uncomfortably in place, looking anywhere except for at that Thorin.

‘Dwalin, you know what I am going to say,’ Thorin told him warningly, tilting his head again to force Dwalin to make eye contact with him. Normally he would have given his friend a clout over the head at this point, but moving quickly would likely do more harm than good given what had happened a moment ago.

‘Aye, I do know, so leave it be,’ Dwalin growled. It was no wonder he was so often compared to some kind of wild animal with the amount of growling he did. ‘We don’t all need to be talking about our _feelings_ all the time.’

To this, the only appropriate response was clearly a string of suggestions in Khuzdul relating to what Dwalin could do the next time he found himself alone. Dwalin seemed more reassured than insulted by this, so Thorin decided his job was done. As long as Dwalin knew he was being foolish he would recover soon enough. He wasn’t one to live in the past.

‘The same back to you,’ was Dwalin’s verbal response. ‘Now go to sleep and stop wasting the time of people who didn’t get carved up by a puny orc and then get carried like a princess.’

Thorin rolled his eyes at this blatant attempt to send him into an angry tirade, rolled over, closed his eyes and very shortly did exactly as Dwalin had suggested.

Two days later, Captain Tauriel returned from Esgaroth with Bard in tow.

«««

Ori had woken the day before, much to the joy of the Company, all of whom had been worried in their own way. Dori and Nori had barely moved from his bedside while he slept. Bombur had disappeared towards Thranduil’s kitchens to discover if chips could be made for their youngest member. Bilbo had been scouring Thranduil’s library for tomes that Ori might find interesting and even Fíli and Kíli had been stopping in at frequent intervals to see if Ori had wakened.

Which was not to say that Ori’s wakening had solved all their problems. A new battle had broken out almost immediately, when Ori insisted that he was perfectly well enough to sit in on the meetings with Bard and Thranduil and proved obstinate in the face of Dori’s refusals to contemplate his leaving the bed. Nori had, at first, chosen to stay out of the way of this conflict. Ori, he had informed Thorin, was quite old enough to fight his own battles. It had greatly surprised Thorin when Nori had come in on Dori’s side instead.

Thorin had been approaching Ori’s room in the evening, as most of the Company had chosen to eat their meals with the scribe since he had awoken. Thorin had not at all expected to be faced with a red-faced Ori and a white-faced Dori when he entered. He was even more surprised when Dori nearly shoved him aside in his haste to leave the room. Thorin couldn’t remember Dori ever being so rude, unless one counted his attempt to strangle Thranduil. Thorin did not, because the entire incident was clearly Thranduil’s fault.

Barely a second after Dori’s exit, Ori paled to a similar shade of white as his older brother. Thorin closed his eyes and muttered a prayer to their feckless creator for mercy. The last thing this quest needed was more excitement. That was when Nori decided to intervene. He was unexpectedly serious, given how often Nori’s comments were sarcastic and mocking.

‘We raised you better than that,’ was all he said at first.

Ori struggled for words. Thorin could see clearly the war on his face – did he accept that he had been wrong, or persist in blaming Dori for whatever he had said out of a young dwarf’s pride?

‘He _is_ smothering me, Nori!’ Ori said, clearly having chosen pride.

‘Perhaps he is,’ Nori told him without giving an inch, ‘but that was only part of what you said, nadadith. Would you care to let our King hear the rest of it?’

Thorin’s urge to protest that this was nothing to do with him was firmly stamped on. Nori was clearly making a point and there was no sense in getting any more involved in the discussion than he already was.

‘I…,’ Ori stuttered for a moment. He fought his earlier battle again and this time fairness won. ‘No, I don’t want anyone to hear it. It was wrong.’

‘It was,’ Nori agreed. ‘That is what you are going to tell Dori, when you prove that you are strong enough to attend the meetings by going to find him. Off you go.’ The end of this statement was accompanied a by a flick of his hand which Thorin wished he could copy. Such a dismissal would be very useful for self-important advisors in the near future… he hoped.

Ori departed and the room was silent until Thorin met Nori’s eyes and spoke.

‘You’re very fixated on good manners,’ Thorin told Nori, trying to be serious and failing, ‘for one who earns his money stealing from people.’

‘Now, now, my King,’ Nori responded airily, ‘just because crime pays doesn’t mean you have to be rude about it.’

As expected, Dwalin nearly expired from the effort required to hold in his thoughts about this. His face went the exact shade of red that Ori and Balin had once discussed in Bilbo’s parlour. That, Thorin thought gleefully, would teach him to comment on Thranduil’s decision to take advantage of an innocent dwarf! He did not let his glee show on his face, of course. A leader had to hold on to his dignity when people were so determined to rob him of it.

«««

In the end, Thranduil had soothed Dori’s concern by allotting a room for further meetings which was very close to Ori’s sickroom. From there he would have only a short walk to any discussions which took place. Ori had won his argument with Dori by reminding his brother that he was on the journey as a chronicler and it would be impossible to do his job if he missed everything that happened. For the moment the topic had been abandoned, though Thorin did not imagine it would stay that way when they prepared to leave Mirkwood.

Ori had not, however, been allowed to come with the rest of the Company and Thranduil’s household to greet Bard when he arrived at Thranduil’s Halls. Bofur and Gloin had offered to stay with him so that he would not feel entirely left out and so it was a slightly reduced Company which joined Thorin and Thranduil to stand before the Woodland Realm’s front door to welcome their guest.

Their guest did not seem particularly impressed by the welcome. Bard was as wary and reserved as Thorin remembered. He looked suspiciously at both elves and dwarves and Thorin wondered for a moment how Tauriel had convinced him to come at all. He forgot this thought quickly when he realised that Bard and Tauriel were not alone. With them had come Bard’s son and two daughters, all looking overwhelmed at their first trip into the forest and their first sight of such splendour as Thranduil preferred. Thorin had not expected this to be a family affair, though it made complete sense once he thought about it. With his wife dead, Bard could not have left the children alone in Esgaroth.

‘There had better be a good reason for dragging us to this benighted place,’ were Bard’s first words. He stopped a fair distance from the two Kings and gave them a flat stare which held no trace of friendliness. Thranduil seemed somewhat taken aback by this greeting, but Thorin had expected it. Bard had struck him as a man more used to having enemies than friends.

Longer acquaintance with Thranduil – well, longer than the hour or less they had spent in one another’s company in his previous life – allowed Thorin to see the elf holding back his first response at hearing his land so insulted. His answer was, instead, perfectly polite.

‘We are grateful that you have taken the time to come,’ Thranduil told Bard graciously. ‘We do believe that which we would discuss with you is extremely important, yes.’

‘It must be if it has elves and dwarves working together,’ Bard commented. ‘I was not under the impression that your races were particularly friendly.’

‘All things change, Master Bard,’ Thranduil responded, ‘even elves. Though not always in ways that are obvious to others. Thorin and I believe that we will need allies in the years to come. We would rather focus on that than the anger of years gone by.’

That, Thorin thought, was a masterly speech from someone who had been involved in an exchange of insults with him not a week ago. Perhaps the long lives of elves helped them to practise saying such things with complete conviction.

The conversation was interrupted by a squeak from Bard’s youngest, who had been peeking out from behind her father and had then shot behind his legs again. It was followed by gentle laughter from Fíli, coupled with a reassuring pat to Bifur’s shoulder.

‘He’ll not hurt you, Mistress,’ Fíli said soothingly. ‘He was only saying hello.’

‘But he didn’t say anything!’ the little one exclaimed, suddenly bold again and turning to face Fíli with a doubtful expression on her face. Thorin had the impression that she was used to having pranks played on her by her older siblings. Either that or she had inherited her father’s distrust of strangers.

‘Tilda!’ the elder of Bard’s daughters scolded, sounding much like a woman twice her age. That one had picked up her mother’s role after her death, Thorin would bet good money on it. Fili only laughed, however.

‘It is no matter, Mistress,’ he addressed the elder. ‘I am quite used to being disbelieved. This one,’ here he ruffled Kíli’s hair and received a noise of protest in response, ‘would believe the sky was green if I told him it was not.’

Bard’s son chuckled at that. Thorin could see Bard’s face tighten slightly but the man held himself in check. He was used to protecting them from everything and everyone, Thorin decided. It must be hard to let them talk to those he had never met and did not trust when he wanted so badly to keep them safe.

‘Master Bifur,’ Fíli continued, gesturing to Bifur in explanation, ‘was hurt in a battle that our people fought long ago now. He does not remember how to speak Westron, so he uses the languages of our people instead. The sign language, Iglishmêk, helps us to talk to each other even when our surroundings are very noisy. Hammers on metal in a forge make a lot of noise, after all. Bifur was telling you “hello”,’ Fíli finished this statement by using the gestures to accompany the word.

Really, Thorin thought, he should be scolding Fíli right now. Their languages were for their own people, not for outsiders. Three things made it hard to be indignant though. One was the fact that Bilbo probably knew a fair amount of Iglishmêk by now, having journeyed with them for so long and being talented at such things. The second was the delight on the children’s faces as they copied the sign and were answered by Bifur. The third was the softening of Bard’s face when he saw their delight. Thorin’s nephew was going to be positively deadly in a few years. With his charisma and his ability to know the right words to break the ice, Fíli would be a far better leader than Thorin could ever be.

‘What did he say?’ Tilda was demanding, having watched Bifur sign something far more complicated than a simple hello.

‘He says,’ Kíli offered, ‘that he is honoured to meet you and that he hopes you will talk to him more later on. Bifur does not get to talk to many people of other races,’ he then explained. ‘Even some dwarves do not remember the signs well enough to talk to him properly.’

‘We will definitely talk more later,’ the elder daughter announced, curtsying politely. Bifur signed in response.

‘Thank you,’ Kíli translated again. The girls giggled and Thorin caught sight of Bard’s son copying the gestures, muttering to himself as he did so. Somewhere, Thorin decided with a sigh, his father and grandfather were cursing his inability to guard their longest-held secrets.

‘I imagine we would all prefer to eat before we begin any lengthy conversations,’ Thranduil said then, stepping into the pause that had occurred naturally. He was truly smiling, Thorin realised, and not the swiftly-fading smiles Thorin had seen before. In fact, Thranduil’s gaze as he looked upon the children was indulgent. Who would have thought that the cold King of the Woodland Realm would have a soft spot for children?

‘Yes, please,’ Bard’s son spoke up. ‘It has been hours since breakfast!’

‘So it has,’ Bilbo chipped in, drawing the children’s attention for the first time. ‘I should have had at least three meals by now. I will waste away at this rate.’

Bilbo began to walk in to Thranduil’s Halls and the children were around him almost instantly, clamouring to know who he was and where he came from and why he was smaller than they were. Bilbo’s laugh trailed behind him as he tried to answer their questions before even more spilled out. The adults followed after them, chuckling at their enthusiasm. Over all, Thorin thought, the atmosphere was considerably less frosty than it had been when Bard first arrived. Bifur was owed a great deal of ale whenever he wished it.

««««««


	16. Future's Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Convincing Bard of Laketown will be no easy task.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back again. I cannot believe how long they have been in Mirkwood! I promise they will leave eventually - just not yet. If only I could get them to stop talking (who am I kidding, this is me, they'll never stop talking). Thank you for all the comments, kudos, bookmarks and subscriptions. I love each and every one. I hope you enjoy this offering :)

Chapter Sixteen: Future’s Hope

Lunch was certainly an interesting meal. The combination of dwarves and children of Men probably made Thranduil’s Halls louder than they had been in many a year. Bard’s children had lost any initial shyness and were lapping up the attention which the dwarves and elves, for whom children were such a rare blessing, were only too happy to provide.

Tilda, sitting at one end of the table, seemed to be enamoured of Fíli, Kíli and Bifur in equal measure. She was splitting her attention between them, using Fíli and Kíli to translate for Bifur and practising the Iglishmêk she could glean as she went. As far as Thorin could tell, Bifur was describing the toys which dwarven children commonly played with in great detail. The girl’s eyes were wide with amazement. Thorin, remembering the sparse home she had lived in and the general squalor of Esgaroth, wondered how many toys she had played with as a child. Less even than Fíli and Kíli probably, though Bifur would likely make up that lack very soon, taken as he was with his new friend.

Elsewhere, Bain had attached himself to Dwalin and was demanding details of the battles that Dwalin had fought in whilst staring at the dwarf’s tattoos and axes with undisguised awe. Bard sat nearby, clearly uncomfortable with this fascination. Thorin knew just from looking, though, that Dwalin was giving the lad the same information he had given Thorin’s sister-sons when they were Bain’s age. Dwalin might be a warrior through and through but he had never glorified war in front of the children. If they were to choose his way then it would be with their eyes open. Likely this was why Bard hadn’t intervened yet.

Sigrid interested Thorin the most. Rather than gravitating, as he had expected, to Tauriel with her fey beauty and skill at arms, Sigrid had quickly placed herself near Dori, Bofur and Bombur. She did not seem to be speaking a great deal but she smiled almost constantly as she ate. Thorin spent some time contemplating the small group before he realised that she was contentedly lapping up the parental attention. Dori, of course, was happy to mother any child he came across regardless of age or race. From Bombur’s expression, Thorin suspected he was missing his own little ones and was enjoying the chance to spoil someone else’s. Bofur just liked to make people laugh. Between them, they had managed to turn the little mother into a young girl.

Bard, apparently deciding that Dwalin could be trusted not to fill his son’s head with glorious lies, moved to sit next to Thorin. Looking at the object of Thorin’s attention, his face drew into a frown and his eyes darkened.

‘She is not unloved,’ was his first comment, low enough that only Thorin would be able to hear.

‘We did not imagine for a second that she was,’ Thorin replied, tone reflecting his shock. He had expected to be warned to keep his Company away from Bard’s children, not to hear an almost defensive statement such as that. Bard looked at him with the suspicion that seemed to be his normal expression.

‘Then why is it that three of your companions are lavishing such attention upon her?’ Bard questioned him. ‘Unless it is a ploy to gain my agreement to whatever scheme I have been called here to discuss. If it is you will find yourselves out of luck.’

‘The Dwarves of Erebor have not yet sunk so low that we must use children as bargaining tools in our dealings with other races,’ Thorin said, drawing up straight and staring Bard straight in the eye, his own blazing with indignation. ‘Let other races marry their children off for political gain or curry favour with false attentions, my people have never felt the need to do so.’

‘So, you are of the Lonely Mountain, then,’ Bard stated, almost to himself. ‘That I had already suspected.’

‘It was no secret,’ Thorin said pointedly, gesturing around the table. ‘Any one of those gathered here would have told you so had you asked.’

‘Perhaps,’ Bard replied noncommittally, though his next words were more forceful. ‘I would still like to know why my children are deemed worthy of such attention!’

‘Then you have answered your own question,’ Thorin told him, wanting to push back at Bard a little. Suspicion he would accept, for in truth he could do little else. Accusations of some nefarious reason for talking to a man’s children were pushing things too far, however. Still, the small voice reminding him of his own earlier thoughts about Fíli’s skill with diplomacy made him a little uncomfortable and Thorin found himself unconsciously twisting one of his rings around and around. The old gesture of nervousness had been the source of much scolding by Thror, once upon a time.

‘Yet I am not enlightened,’ came Bard’s angry reply. ‘Perhaps you should explain it to me.’

‘They are children,’ Thorin said shortly, still stung by the insult. ‘We dwarves have not so many of those these days, especially not those of us who live in Ered Luin. Even if we had, your Sigrid has unerringly discovered three among my companions who love all children, no matter whose they are. Dori’s brother, Ori, is not so far past his own childhood and I believe Dori misses the days when his fussing was accepted easily. Bombur will have five children now, though he has yet to meet the youngest. It has been many months since he saw them. Bofur, from what I can tell, is a fond uncle and likely misses the little ones too. Gloín,’ he continued, gesturing to where the red-headed dwarf now sat with Bain and Dwalin, ‘has a lad of his own whom he adores. Sit near him too long and you will doubtless find out all about Gimli.’

Bard’s face had been inscrutable throughout this speech, though he looked at each dwarf in turn as Thorin spoke and something in his eyes convinced Thorin that he was absorbing all this information carefully. When at last he spoke his voice was more neutral, only slightly tinged with distrust.

‘If they love their own children so much, why come so far from them?’

Thorin waited a moment before replying, choosing his words with a little care. He did not wish to start a full discussion of their quest and plans here and now. That was for formal times and Thranduil would be most perturbed to be left out, especially as they were in his home.

‘We go where we must to try to better their lives,’ Thorin said at last. ‘As do all parents if there is need.’

Bard was clearly unconvinced by this general reply and his gaze narrowed. What he thought Thorin could not know, for Bard kept his own counsel and instead changed the angle of their discussion.

‘You call yourself a parent,’ Bard stated, ‘yet I have heard no mention of your children at this table. Where are they?’

‘Next to your youngest,’ Thorin said with a jerk of his head. At Bard’s startled look, Thorin raised an eyebrow at him.

‘Those two?’ Bard said, clearly trawling back through memories to place what he knew of Fíli and Kíli. ‘The dark-haired I might have thought, but the other… though I suppose if they are brothers….’

As Bard trailed off, Thorin decided to clear things up. To let Bard continue could only lead to his embarrassment and that would not help their cause.

‘They are not my sons in the way you mean, though certainly they are brothers,’ Thorin explained. ‘I am their uncle, their mother’s brother. Their father died when they were very young, though. Kíli, _the dark-haired_ ,’ he added meaningfully, ‘barely remembers Vili. They have lived with me all their lives.’

‘I did not realise,’ Bard said shortly, clearly not sure what else to say.

‘You would have done soon enough,’ Thorin told him. ‘No doubt one of them will demand my attention eventually, if only to get a mediator for that disagreement.’

Across the room Fíli had just tipped Kíli off the bench and was making a good attempt at keeping him from retaking his place. From this distance Thorin could only faintly hear Kíli’s cries of protest over the top of the general noise, though he could read Bifur’s signing easily enough. Snorting, he informed Bard,

‘Apparently Fíli does not approve of his brother’s translations.’

‘Do they often roll around on the floor?’ Bard asked, voice not so much curious as sarcastic. Thorin was well-enough used to such reactions to the boys that he did not take much offence.

‘Depending on the company, yes. I would prefer that they did not do so in front of Thranduil, however. There’s no need to live down to his expectations. Fíli, enough!’ he barked at the end. Fíli’s head shot up and he released his brother instantly. Kíli, who now looked as if he had lost a battle with a holly-bush, hauled himself to his feet with much dignity, only to ruin it by sticking his tongue out at Fíli. Tilda clearly found the whole incident hilarious, as did Legolas, who had moved to sit by her while the boys were distracted.

‘Thank Mahal their mother isn’t here,’ Thorin muttered to himself, momentarily forgetting his companion. Bard made his own noise of amusement. Thranduil, who had apparently begun listening at some point in the conversation, joined him.

‘They are certainly boisterous,’ the Elven King said blandly. He avoided all mention of his expectations of dwarves. ‘I imagine their mother had her hands full.’

‘Her own, mine, Balin’s _and_ Dwalin’s normally,’ Thorin admitted. ‘We never knew what they’d be up to from one moment to the next.’

Softened as he seemed to be by the presence of so many lively young ones around his table, Thranduil did not take the opportunity to comment snidely on the boys’ upbringing. Instead, he looked at his own son with distinct fondness.

‘That problem I remember well enough,’ he told Thorin and Bard. ‘Legolas’ mother once put him to sleep in his room only to find him fast asleep the next morning – halfway up the tree that grows in the throne room. No guard had seen him and we had not heard him come through our own room to escape. To this day I have no idea how he managed it.’

‘How old was he?’ Bard asked curiously.

‘Old by your standards but young by our own,’ Thranduil said, reminding Thorin that comparing years was never a good way of measuring age between races. ‘At a guess, I’d say about the same as a child of Men would be at four or five.’

‘Aye, that would be the sort of thing they’d do,’ Bard murmured. ‘Bain took to hiding in the oddest places at that age. He kept forgetting to tell us he was playing hide and go seek. We’d have no idea until we realised we’d not seem him for hours. It drove Maeva to distraction.’

Elves began to appear in the dining room, drawn by some silent signal that told them that all within had finished eating. Bilbo leaned over to say something to Bain, who was rubbing his stomach and looking slightly sick. The hobbit then spoke to one of the elves, who passed their dishes to another before disappearing out the door. Bilbo patted the lad, taller than him by more than a foot, on the head and came over to where Thorin and his companions were sat.

‘I fear Master Bain has eaten too much,’ Bilbo told Bard when he was within earshot. ‘One of King Thranduil’s household has graciously agreed to find him some ginger tea, though, so he should be better shortly.’

‘That will teach him to try to keep up with the appetites of dwarves,’ Bard said equably, though the set of his shoulders suggested he was bothered by something.

‘Or rather with the appetite of a hobbit,’ Thorin interjected, trying to work out what had put that tension there. ‘Master Baggins eats as much as any dwarf I’ve ever met and that is when we are rationing ourselves on a journey.’

‘That is the problem with the other races of Middle Earth,’ Bilbo said brightly. ‘They simply don’t have the proper attitude to food – plenty and often is always best.’

‘So says the hobbit who has travelled with Dori and Bombur for months,’ was Thorin’s response. ‘If any like their food as much as a hobbit, it is they.’

‘Tell that to your sister the next time we see her,’ Dwalin commented, having come up behind them with Bain still trailing behind. ‘Perhaps she’ll stop glaring at me every time a meal is served.’

‘Dream away, my friend,’ Thorin said generously. ‘They are lovely dreams I am sure.’

‘I get the impression that your sister and Master Dwalin are not good friends,’ Thranduil opined as Dwalin stomped off.

‘From what I have heard she spends a great deal of her time hitting him with a spoon,’ Bilbo added informatively. ‘Dwalin mentions the spoon often.’

‘Dwalin needs to find better things to worry himself with,’ Thorin said firmly. ‘I have told him time and time again that she would stop hitting him if he stopped deliberately irritating her at every opportunity.’

‘I am somewhat confused,’ Bard said, though he sounded as if admitting it caused him physical pain. ‘I do not understand why I am here, I do not understand why Master Baggins is here and I most certainly don’t understand why I have ended a meal here discussing Master Thorin’s sister and her spoon rather than discovering why I was summoned.’

Bard’s tone had grown steadily more annoyed as he went by, as if he had suddenly remembered that he was unhappy about his presence here and was determined to regain lost ground. The friendly interlude was clearly over.

‘Then we should do what we can to lessen your confusion,’ Thranduil responded quickly, though his tone was unhurried, as it always appeared to be except before battle. ‘Would you prefer for your children to accompany us or should I ask one of my household to show them to the rooms that will have been prepared for them?’

‘I want to know what’s going on, Da,’ Bain chipped in. ‘We’ll be quiet, I promise.’

Bard looked torn. He did not want his children out of his sight, that was clear, though Thorin did not think he truly expected them to come to harm among the elves. Esgaroth’s relationship with Thranduil’s kingdom seemed civil if not friendly. Neither, it seemed, did he wish to have his children at the meeting. In the end he seemed to prefer to keep the children with him, a move which greatly surprised Thorin. He had honestly expected them to be sent away. Perhaps the Master’s spying and harassment had made Bard more nervous than he’d realised.

‘Come then,’ Thranduil said, giving no hint of surprise. ‘We have a room near to here, so that Master Ori need not walk far while he recovers from an injury. It should be large enough for all of us, though I had best send for some more chairs. I would rather that Legolas did not resort to sitting on the table.'

Thranduil’s tone suggested that this had been known to happen before. Thorin wasn’t sure which to marvel at first – the suggestion that the Prince of the Woodland Realm often sat on tables during meetings, or the relaxed manner in which Thranduil was including Thorin in such confidences since the battle. Apparently saving the life of the Elven King’s son counted for a great deal.

«««

The scene in the room that Thranduil had provided for their discussions was a comical sight. Thranduil had declined to invite his advisors to this stage of the proceedings but that still left himself, Legolas and Tauriel, all the Company, Bard and his three children. Seating was less of an issue than space and Thranduil cast his eyes to the ceiling when Legolas decided that the easiest way to solve the problem was to scoop Bilbo up and place the hobbit on his lap.

‘Legolas, ionneg,’ he uttered in a tone of despair, ‘I do not suppose that you could at least _attempt_ to present a dignified appearance to our visitors? Or at the very least allow them their dignity? Master Baggins may well not wish to sit on your lap all afternoon.’

Luckily, Bilbo was far too good-natured to take any real offence to this move and merely laughed tolerantly.

‘Do not let it concern you, Thranduil,’ the hobbit responded. ‘If it will facilitate negotiations I shall bear the indignity.’

Legolas, whom Thorin remembered as stern and unforgiving, smiled happily at his father and seemingly had not a care in the world.

‘There, Father, Bilbo does not mind!’ he announced. He then yelped when Tauriel, at a subtle signal from Thranduil, flicked his ear sharply with one fingernail. The look he gave her was wounded but she appeared entirely unconcerned.

Thankfully no further incidents occurred and soon they were all seated around the long table. Ori had made a point of having parchment and quill with him to record what took place and Thorin looked at him sidelong.

‘How large a bribe would I need to stop you recording all the idiotic things we say?’ he asked Ori lightly.

‘More than all the gold in Erebor,’ Ori responded readily. Once again, Thorin mourned the days when his people had lived in fear of him, at least a little.

‘That seems as good a place to start as any,’ Bard said suddenly, taking several of those present by surprise, including Thorin, ‘for I am beginning to suspect that this meeting has a lot to do with the gold of Erebor. Or am I incorrect, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror?’

‘You are incorrect, Bard of Esgaroth,’ Thorin said as patiently as he could, ‘little though you may believe it.’

‘So this gathering of dwarves is not so that you can go back into that mountain and try to take back your gold? I find that hard to believe considering who you are,’ Bard’s voice was low but his anger was clear enough. His children looked startled, clearly unused to this side of their father.

‘We intend to enter the mountain, yes,’ Thorin continued. Bard was going to test his resolve to be polite sorely, he could tell. The man seemed even less inclined to listen than Thranduil had been, hard though that was for Thorin to believe. Bard proved this by interrupting before he could speak further.

‘Then we have nothing to say to one another,’ he said shortly. ‘I will not allow you to enter the Lonely Mountain and doom us all just so that more greedy dwarves can have the gold they crave.’

‘You will not _allow_ ,’ Thorin began but he was drowned out by the voices of his Company.

‘I beg your pardon!’ Balin exclaimed, clearly taken aback at such rudeness. Dwalin and Glóin were even less restrained.

‘I’d like to know where you’re going to find the army to stop us,’ Glóin roared, rising to his feet.

‘You need to be careful how you talk, laddie,’ Dwalin cried. ‘This is no Master of Men you are speaking to!’

‘Quiet,’ Kíli snapped at them and they complied more out of surprise than obedience. ‘Master Bard was speaking to Uncle, let him answer.’

Fíli gave Kíli an approving nod and Thorin had the feeling that they had been plotting and planning on their own before this meeting began. That worried him, he had to admit. He loved them both, and was impressed by their recent actions, but not an hour before they’d been acting like children themselves. It was not a reassuring thought.

‘Master Bard,’ Thorin began, all eyes on him now that the room had gone quiet, ‘while I can understand your concern, I do not think you need allow us to do anything. There is no law that I know of which states that we must answer to the Men of Esgaroth for our actions. We have brought you here out of courtesy and because we felt you could contribute to our discussion, but we did not think to ask your permission.’

Perhaps this was not the best tactic but Thorin’s hackles had been raised by the casual arrogance of Bard’s announcement. As Fili had once pointed out, people seemed to spend a lot of time telling the dwarves what they could and could not do with their own homes. It might have rankled less had Bard not immediately jumped to the worst conclusion about Thorin’s motivations.

‘Of course not,’ Bard sneered. ‘Your kind never did consider any but your own wishes. Dale burned for the sake of your grandfather’s greed. Why should Esgaroth not burn for yours?’

‘I think that is quite enough,’ Thranduil interjected firmly, his voice a lighter, calmer addition to the conversation. ‘If we are to sling insults and allow no room for explanations we will get nowhere.’

Bard shook his head in apparent disgust. The gaze he turned upon Thranduil was a mix of loathing and bitter disappointment.

‘I had thought better of you,’ he told Thranduil softly. ‘Your people, at least, came to Dale’s aid after the attack. Yet now you would allow this dwarf to risk wakening the beast. For what? The pretty trinkets they will give you?’

‘Da!’ Sigrid gasped then. ‘You cannot say such things.’ She was clearly both shocked and horrified, but Thorin suspected it was less at what had been said and more at her father’s demeanour. Likely she had never seen him so angry.

‘I am sorry, Sigrid,’ Bard told her more gently, ‘but they must be said. It is the lives of our people which will be destroyed if ever that dragon reappears.’

‘Which he may well do,’ Bilbo said quietly, looking at Bard and ignoring all others. In another situation his appearance might have been comical; the solemn face with old eyes coming from a child-sized figure sat on an elf’s knee. ‘There is no saying that Smaug will remain endlessly within the Mountain simply because no one goes in. He has come out before has he not?’

‘In my great-grandfather’s time,’ Bard said. ‘That is a long time, Master Hobbit, by any reckoning of men. I am willing to take that chance.’

‘Which is easy for you,’ Legolas said then, face also solemn, ‘for you may well be long dead and beyond caring what happens to your kin. My father and I will not be. We must look ahead to such a time. If you had your way we might well find our forests ablaze in another 150 years and curse ourselves for allowing such an evil to fester so near to our borders.’

‘I was under the impression that the Elves of Mirkwood had greater problems to concern themselves with,’ Bard replied, voice more level but with a nasty edge to it. ‘I am told there are fell things living in your forest now. Surely you have better places to turn your attention to.’

‘More immediate, perhaps,’ Thranduil answered for Legolas, ‘but not necessarily more important. As I informed Thorin some days ago, the fact that the Greenwood is now diseased in parts makes me no more eager to see it burn. The dwarves are right in one thing – that dragon is a constant threat so long as he is in Erebor.’

‘A dragon which might well be dead!’ Bard said impatiently. ‘You look to things that may never happen and for that you would endanger all the folk in this area.’

‘I’m afraid you’ll have to make up your mind there, lad,’ Balin instructed. ‘Either the dragon is dead and will not trouble us even if we do enter, or he is alive and so continues to be a threat to all. You cannot have it both ways.’

‘We should have stayed in Lake-town,’ Bain said then, jutting his chin out determinedly when all eyes turned to him. ‘The Master might spy on us and try to ruin our good name but at least he doesn’t drag Da in front of lots of people so that they can all bully him into doing what they want.’

Nothing was said for a long moment. Some members of the Company shifted uncomfortably in their seats and Thorin realised how bad this must look to a lad like Bain. Bullies indeed, with so many all arguing with one man.

‘It was not meant so,’ Thorin said, talking to Bard as well as Bain. ‘We had hoped to explain our thoughts and plan before you and then discuss them reasonably. Tempers fray when Erebor and the dragon are discussed though. So Thranduil and I found when we first talked some days ago.’

‘Then by all means explain, Master Thorin,’ Bard offered. ‘I am willing to listen as long as you do not expect me to simply sit by while you attempt something which will cause so much suffering to my people.’

‘I would speak, actually,’ Bilbo interrupted then, ‘if Thorin will permit me to take his place. You asked earlier why a hobbit was to be found in such company. My explanation may clear up a number of matters.’

Thorin looked at Bilbo questioningly, wondering what their hobbit was up to. Bilbo had previously proven more than able to handle fractious debates without losing his temper, however, and Thorin could do no less than trust the one who was willing to give so much for his people.

‘You are a dwarf in all but form, Bilbo,’ he said formally. ‘When you speak, you speak for this Company and so for Erebor.’

Bilbo seemed touched by this statement of simple fact and he gave Thorin a little bow, imitating the acknowledgement he had seen the Company use so often.

‘I think, Prince Legolas,’ Bilbo said first, ‘that I must ask to have a chair of my own. I’m afraid for such a conversation I really do feel I will need all of my dignity intact.’

‘Of course,’ Legolas said, all traces of his earlier humour fled. Here was the son of the King whom Thorin had expected to see, older and grimmer and more like to his father in manner. The elf rose and moved to stand behind Thranduil’s chair, as he might when the elven court gathered.

‘Thank you,’ Bilbo said politely, reseating himself once Legolas had departed. Then his voice took on the storytelling tone that the dwarves had last heard when he spoke of Gollum.

‘For Thorin and his Company this tale begins many years ago,’ Bilbo explained. ‘My part in the story, however, began only a few months ago. One day, when I was going about my usual business and fervently hoping to avoid my cousin and his odious wife, four dwarves appeared on my doorstep. Once I had been reassured that they did not intend to eat me out of house and home, I was curious enough to invite them in. They told of the fall of a kingdom (which likely makes me one of the few hobbits ever to have had a king in their parlour) and the evil that had befallen it. They also told me of their need to find a hobbit to journey with them and to attempt to kill the dragon, so that the peoples of Middle Earth would no longer live in fear of him and the dwarves could live in safety and prosperity once more.

Bard seemed to consider speaking at this point but a stern look from Bilbo convinced him to hold his tongue.

‘Naturally I told them that they were entirely out of luck. Hobbits do not go on adventures and we most certainly don’t kill dragons. I sent them on their way, resolved to feed them well two nights later and then forget all about such a foolish notion. You can see how well that worked out,’ Bilbo accompanied that last statement with a motion of his hand to indicate the dwarves who surrounded him.

‘What changed your mind?’ Bain asked, clearly enjoying the tale despite his wish to be loyal to his father and reject his newfound friendships.

‘Three things, in the end,’ Bilbo answered gravely. ‘The first was the fact that Thorin always spoke of killing the dragon _without_ harming any of those around Erebor. The second was Dori,’ Bilbo paused as Dori made small sound of surprise and turned to smile at his friend.

‘I asked if none of the Company had sisters except Thorin,’ Bilbo told Bard, no longer smiling, ‘and Dori told me that he had had one once. She starved to death when the dragon drove them from their home. You must understand that for a hobbit such a thing is unheard of. Our lands are plentiful in a way we do not appreciate because it is simply the norm. Yet here was a little girl who had died of a lack of food because the dragon cared not who he hurt or what he ruined, only for what he wanted. I could see that killing such a beast was an important task indeed.’

‘And the third,’ Bard said inscrutably, face entirely blank.

‘The third was, in a strange way, Erebor’s gold,’ Bard’s face darkened and he tensed as if to stand up and walk away. Bilbo held up a hand to stay him and continued. ‘ _Not_ the possession of it, for goodness knows I have no need of such things. They would do nothing except make me more of an oddity in the Shire than I already am. It was because Thorin was so open about the reason it had been amassed and made it so clear that it was not the reason he wished to return home. I truly believed he was concerned for his people and their plight, not for the “pretty trinkets” you dislike so much.’

‘You have spoken more than once of this “plight”,’ Bard said, tone not quite derisive. ‘I was led to believe that the dwarves of Erebor now lived in Ered Luin.’

‘We do,’ Thorin said, feeling that it was time to take part in the discussion once more. He took a moment to smile at Bilbo before he did so, hoping that his gratitude was clear in his eyes. Bilbo had done all he could to soften Bard towards them and Thorin fervently hoped that it would work. ‘Yet you yourself know that it is possible to have a home and still be closer to the edge of poverty than is comfortable. My people know hunger, Master Bard, as do yours. Fíli and Kíli were once far better acquainted with the feeling than I will ever be content with.’

At this comment Bard’s eyes flicked briefly but instinctively to Bain. Suddenly, Thorin saw the lad’s earlier discomfort in a different light. Had he gorged himself, Thorin wondered, as a hungry man might at a banquet and then found that his stomach could not handle the excess it was so unused to? If so, perhaps Bard would understand this problem at least.

‘Yes,’ Bard agreed, ‘we know hunger and poverty. I can feel sympathy for your people, Master Thorin, and pity their troubles. However, the reality is that Lake-town suffers those same troubles because Dale was destroyed by the dragon your people drew to Erebor. Our suffering came through no action of our own. Your people might have done better with better kings to lead them.’

A number of the Company stiffened in outrage and Thorin saw even Captain Tauriel, who seemed to have no great love for his Company, stand straighter and sharpen her gaze upon Bard.

‘I speak naught but the truth,’ Bard said firmly, though Thorin felt him lacking a little in conviction.

‘You speak the truth as you perceive it,’ Thranduil told him. ‘As I would have perceived it not so long ago. I believe we can all grow wiser with time though.’

Thorin feared that he would end this quest owing Thranduil more than he could ever possibly repay. He was still not sure when the Elven King had turned from reluctant host to willing ally but it was a change that Thorin would be eternally thankful for.

‘So in disagreeing with your views I lack wisdom?’ Bard asked dryly.

‘Master Bard, I would not be quite so quick to take the high ground here,’ Thranduil warned him. ‘Do not forget that some time ago it was you who accused me of being blinded by greed in my friendship with these dwarves. That would suggest that you considered me to lack wisdom because I disagreed with you, would it not?’

There was a little of the acidity that Thorin was used to hearing from Thranduil, though it was odd to hear it aimed at another for once.

Bard made a gesture which acknowledged the truth of this statement but did not seem any more willing to retract his comment. Thorin realised that it was time, yet again, for him to humble himself before a possible ally to gain their aid. He hated the thought, felt very nearly sick at it, and began twisting his ring upon his finger once more. In the end, however, he steeled himself to speak.

‘Erebor would have done better without Thror on the throne,’ a voice said, but it was not his. Balin had once again stepped in to spare his King pain. ‘None here would dispute that. The gold-sickness took Thror hard and had an unrelenting grip on his mind. Yet, to blame our people for his sickness is a hard line to take, Master Bard. I am told by Captain Tauriel that the Master of Lake-town is a man consumed by vanity and greed, which is one of the reasons he was not invited to this meeting. Would you blame your people for the money that he takes from them to serve his own desires?’

Balin had probably said that far better than he would have, Thorin thought with great relief. The sickly feeling began to fade somewhat and he forced himself to still his hands. He did not relax entirely though. This fight was far from over.

‘I can accept your point,’ Bard allowed. ‘I can even accept that it would benefit the dwarves of Erebor to come back to the Mountain again. Even so, my lords, you ask me to per… to knowingly risk,’ he corrected, ‘the lives of my own people to aid another. I will not do it.’

‘What if there was a way to lessen that risk?’ Thranduil asked Bard then. ‘If your people were given sanctuary within these caves where the dragon’s wrath could not touch them? I would be willing to offer such, at Thorin’s suggestion, if it would ease their minds.’

Bard’s eyes widened and the children looked at Thranduil with something like wonder. ‘Could you do that?’ Tilda asked Thranduil. ‘Could we all fit in here?’

‘Yes, little one,’ Thranduil informed her kindly. ‘These caves were built to hold far more of my people than remain within them. Like the dwarves, we are a diminishing people.’

‘Diminishing?’ she queried and Thranduil laughed the musical laugh which seemed to be common to all elves, despite the grim subject.

‘There are fewer and fewer of us,’ he explained and received a nod of understanding.

‘Why?’ Bain asked then, with all the blunt boldness of youth.

‘We have few children,’ Thranduil said sadly. ‘Legolas is one of the youngest of those who live in the Woodland Realm and he has been considered an adult since before Erebor fell. As the forest becomes darker many of my people choose to leave and sail to Valinor, the homeland of the Valar to which we are welcomed when we wish to leave Middle Earth.’

‘Is that where your wife went?’ Sigrid asked quietly. Clearly, Thorin thought, the lass saw a great deal more than she normally let on.

‘It is,’ Thranduil replied, his voice equally quiet. ‘She could no longer bear to watch the Greenwood fade as it did and so she left.’

‘Didn’t you want to go with her?’ Tilda questioned when it looked as if Sigrid would leave the topic unexplored.

‘I cannot, henig,’ he responded. ‘The Greenwood is my charge and I cannot leave her to wither alone. I must preserve this forest as long as Arda endures.’

‘Oh,’ Tilda said, ‘but – does that mean you will never see her again?’

‘It does,’ Thranduil answered, still gentle but now also somehow remote. Thorin felt as if they could see only the edges of an immense grief and turned his eyes elsewhere to give Thranduil his privacy. Tauriel had her hand upon Legolas’ shoulders and Thorin realised that this was his grief as well. How did one choose which parent to spend eternity with?

‘We have wandered some way from our point,’ Bilbo interposed, drawing attention away from the elves and looking fondly at the children so that they would not feel scolded. ‘Would your people accept this help, Master Bard?’

‘They might,’ Bard said. ‘At the least, I can appreciate the generosity behind it. However it would not solve the problem of the loss of our homes. They are wooden and would not survive a dragon attack.’

‘Homes can be rebuilt,’ Thorin stated. ‘With the resources Erebor held when Smaug came we could rebuild Dale if your people wished it.’

‘You would do that?’ Bard asked him disbelievingly. ‘Simply give us the money to rebuild our home?’

‘I do not suffer from the gold-sickness, Master Bard,’ Thorin said, wishing with all his might that he would always be able to say such a thing with complete honesty. ‘I have no desire to gaze upon mounds of gold that do nothing except sit in my treasury. Better that it be used for a good purpose.’

‘You have given me much to think on,’ Bard announced after a minute or two had passed in a tacitly agreed silence, ‘and think upon it is what I will do. I have only one more question I must know the answer to.’

‘Then ask away,’ Thorin encouraged him, hoping that this meant they might gain Bard’s support for their aim.

‘How, exactly, do you intend to kill the dragon?’ Bard asked and Thorin felt his heart drop to the floor.

««««««

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ionneg = my son
> 
> henig = my child


	17. All Burn Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of all the obstacles Thorin had envisioned, this had never even occurred to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would anyone like a chapter? I made it specially! Well, technically I made two but you can't have the other one until tomorrow. 
> 
> This has not been checked by anyone other than me, I'm afraid, so if it is terrible you know who to blame :) Also, I now have 107 comment threads, which I think means I have over a hundred comments - be glad you did not see my dance of joy earlier, it was very awkward. Thank you all so much for continuing to read!

 

Chapter Seventeen: All Burn Together

Bard’s question dropped into the room like water thrown onto hot metal. Rather than leading to silence it caused a wave of hissing noises throughout the room as the other members of the Company whispered to each other and Thranduil and Legolas also began to talk quietly. Thorin thought he might have preferred silence. Silence might have made it slightly less obvious that their plan for killing Smaug was rather lacking.

Bard was not a stupid man. He looked about the room at the various conversations taking place, eyes resting longest on Legolas and Thranduil, and then suddenly he began to laugh. It was not a pleasant sound.

‘You don’t know, do you?’ he scoffed when he stopped laughing. ‘You’ve come all this way and plotted out all these schemes and you have no idea how to get the deed done.’

‘We have an idea,’ Balin protested, clearly aware of how weak it sounded. ‘It is simply somewhat… unfinished.’

‘Unfinished,’ Bard sniffed derisively. ‘A pretty way of saying that it will not work.’

‘Well then,’ Bilbo announced, ‘perhaps we ought to tell you what it is and you can see how it can be improved.’

‘You are presuming that I want you to succeed, Master Baggins,’ Bard pointed out.

‘I rather think you do,’ Bilbo said with a hint of steel in his tone, ‘for we will go one way or another. I think you would prefer us to have a good plan rather than none at all.’

‘If you will go regardless of my thoughts then I cannot see why you bothered to bring me here,’ Bard said irately, repeating his earlier sentiment.

‘Oh for Mahal’s sake, lad, take the stick out of your… behind,’ Dwalin finished when Dori cleared his throat meaningfully, nodding in Tilda’s direction. ‘Look at it this way - if we had not brought you here you might not know what we planned to do at all. Better to know than not, surely.’

Thorin wondered briefly whose side Dwalin was actually on in this debate – it sounded very much like he was advising Bard to go away and plan a method of stopping them. Most likely it was just Dwalin’s usual subtle way with words, however.

‘Then by all means,’ Bard said expansively, ‘explain away. I am all ears.’

‘Never understood that expression,’ Óin said at a far higher volume than he probably intended. Fíli shushed him and received a clout on the side of the head for his troubles. ‘You’re not king yet, youngling,’ Óin informed him. ‘Don’t hush me!’

‘Óin,’ Balin said warningly and the healer apparently decided to keep his peace.

‘Thorin and I,’ Balin began, ‘were the only members of this Company alive the day that the dragon came. Over the years we have spoken with many of our people about what happened that day. In doing so we built up a better picture of the events. Some of those who happened to be abroad when the dragon arrived told of the wind-lance above Dale and the arrows that Girion fired at the dragon.’

‘It was a mighty stand,’ Thranduil said softly. ‘Girion was a brave man and a good lord to his people. His death made a tragic day even sadder for those who knew him.’

‘You knew him,’ Bain said in amazement as he realised the reality of the longer lives of elves and dwarves. ‘The three of you…’

‘Five,’ said Legolas with a wry smile. ‘Tauriel and I are not so young that we do not remember Lord Girion of Dale.’

‘He was a warrior I would have been proud to fight beside,’ Tauriel told Bain solemnly, ‘and a lord I would gladly have served had I been born of Men. His wife, Liralin, was one of the bravest people I have ever met.’

‘Then you saw him fire the black arrows!’ Bain said with a certain amount of excitement. ‘You saw him loosen the scale on Smaug’s hide.’

‘That is…’ Dwalin began, but Thorin cut him off before he could disillusion the lad or hurt his feelings.

‘We did not see it,’ Thorin told Bain. ‘Balin and I were inside Erebor when the dragon attacked, trying to rally our people to stand against him. I imagine Thranduil did, however.’

‘Yes,’ Thranduil acknowledged. ‘I saw the arrows fly and I saw them hit the same place repeatedly. A few days ago I might have said that to have loosened a scale with such weapons was impossible, but I am no smith. Balin informs me that the arrows were strong enough to have done so.’

‘They were,’ Balin said firmly, frowning at Dwalin when he started to disagree. ‘Dwalin, I am aware that you have never seen their like but I _do_ remember those arrows, no matter how little I know of smithying. They were a greater weapon than anything our people have made since.’

‘It is good to hear the tales of our family confirmed as truth,’ Bard interjected then, ‘but I do not see how this helps you.’

‘It helps because I believe that some of those arrows still exist,’ Thorin said as he looked carefully at Bard. ‘Girion died before they were all used, that was what I was told by one who had cause to know.’ Thorin was immensely grateful when Bard did not ask who, for he would prefer to tell no more lies than he had to.

‘And if they did exist?’ Bard asked him. ‘What then?’

‘Then I would have two favours to ask,’ Thorin answered. ‘The first, that you would allow us to take them to use against Smaug. The second, that someone would show my nephews and I to a forge that we might use, so that we could turn the arrows into something that Bilbo could more easily carry. For I would say that our only real chance lies in stabbing Smaug in that spot with an arrow strong enough to pierce his hide.’

‘The arrow might be strong enough, but what about its wielder?’ Bard queried. ‘My apologies, Master Bilbo, but those arrows were meant to be fired from a wind-lance with great force behind them.’

‘That, I imagine,’ Bilbo said mildly, ‘is where the importance of that loose scale comes in. Armour, from what I have learned in these last few months, is only as strong as its weakest point. I hope that it will not take a wind-lance to pierce that which has already been exposed.’

‘You would base a lot upon theories and supposition,’ Bard told them all. ‘There is no way of knowing what will happen in that Mountain.’

‘There is no way of knowing what will happen on any day when we get out of bed,’ Bofur said while looking at Bifur’s hands moving quickly. ‘If we refuse to do anything we are not sure of, then we will never do anything at all. You’ve turned into a philosopher on this journey,’ Bofur accused when Bifur had finished, but he received only a shrug in reply.

Bard was clearly considering all that he had heard now and the rest of the room moved to speak among themselves while he did so. Watching him think would do them no good.

«««

‘You have been a good ally to us this day,’ Thorin told the Elven King when he had moved to stand next to Thranduil on the small balcony on one side of the room. ‘It is very much appreciated, but I confess it has made me curious. Some days ago you were as fierce a critic as Bard.’

‘It is strange,’ Thranduil responded thoughtfully, ‘how ridiculous one’s own views can seem when they are coming from another’s mouth.’

The Elven King was looking at his hands, which rested on the balustrade of the balcony, and his voice was almost absent. After a moment he seemed to finish whatever contemplation he had been involved in, however, and he tilted his head sideways to look at Thorin.

‘Tauriel and Legolas have argued with me for many years about my decision to retreat inside these walls and ignore the world outside. They argued with me fiercely on the day Smaug came, when I turned aside from your people and would give no aid. All this time I have told myself that their youth made them blind to the strength of our foes. Instead, I find that my age has made me blind to the strength of my people. A few days ago we fought and overcame a force of orcs larger than those which have plagued our borders. With the aid of your Company my patrol killed a nest of spiders as large as any we have fought before. Was it wisdom or fear, I wonder, that drove me to refuse to find the source of this evil and face it?’

‘There is no reason it could not be both,’ Thorin told him wryly. Thranduil chuckled.

‘No, I do not suppose there is,’ he agreed. ‘You were right when you asked if there was anything I would not do to ease the suffering of my people. They have lived in fear long enough. We all have. You will face your dragon and reclaim your home and, when you have, the Woodland Realm will request your aid in clearing our forest of the filth that infects it. While you were unconscious I sent a messenger to Rivendell to tell Elrond that I will take up his offer of assistance. It is time we proved that we are as strong as any evil that walks this land.’

‘I am glad to hear it,’ Thorin said quietly, ‘and gladder still if I have helped in some way. You have done much for us this last week. I would not have our alliance be an unequal one.’

‘Oh, I do not think it will be,’ Thranduil said knowingly. ‘I would very much like those jewels, after all. Besides which, you preserved that which is most precious to me during that battle. Legolas is all the family I have left in this world now that my wife has sailed. To have lost him would have been unbearable.’

‘I fear to ask this favour then,’ Thorin replied, feeling suddenly horribly guilty for what he wished of Thranduil. At the King’s curious glance he looked away for a moment and then spoke. ‘I would ask that Tauriel and Legolas come with us to Erebor. If something goes wrong archers might be of great use to us, and I have only Kíli with any skill for archery.’

‘I cannot keep Legolas locked safely in these Halls, much as I might like to,’ Thranduil said at last. ‘He is too old and has trained too long to be kept uselessly sitting at my side when he might fight. They will go with you, if you ask, and I will not stop them.’

‘Thank you,’ Thorin told him sincerely. ‘I will guard them as best as I am able. I, too, know the fear of losing the children that you love.’

‘I believe you do,’ Thranduil assured him. ‘It is one of the things that has made it easier to forget old angers. By the end I feared that Thror would cast aside even his own kin for his love of gold. It is clear that you would not do so even for an enemy. It is a comforting realisation.’

They said no more then, standing silently side by side, lost in their own thoughts. When he had first awoken to this new life, Thorin had expected to grit his teeth through years and years of encounters with Thranduil, all in the name of his creator and his people. He had not thought for a moment that he would talk as amicably to the Elven King as he did now. It would not always be this way, he was sure. There were enough differences between them that they would doubtless argue more than a little in the course of ruling their kingdoms. It was good to know there was a heart under the ice, though. If nothing else it might prevent him wearing his teeth down to stubs.

«««

In the end it was nearly evening before they had Bard’s answer from him. Many of the Company had gone in search of food during that time, including Thorin. He had then retreated to his own rooms, glad of some peace and quiet. It was possible that he had fallen asleep in his chair and missed much of the afternoon, but he would admit it to no one. All they needed to know was that he had been summoned by Balin’s knock on the door and had then returned to the meeting room.

The others trickled back in bit by bit and Thorin was surprised to notice that his nephews had apparently been alone all this time. He had expected them to guide the children into some sort of mischief or to join Legolas and Tauriel in the telling of former exploits once more. Instead they had an air of seriousness around them which concerned him. He was distracted from it, however, by Bard’s move to stand against the wall where he could face all in the room.

‘I cannot speak for Lake-town,’ Bard said first of all. ‘I am not its Master and, while the people who live there might listen to my suggestions, I cannot say that all would agree with my decisions. Nevertheless, you invited me to give my opinion and so I will. I will not aid you in this quest, Master Oakenshield. You offer a great many fair words, but I am not a man of words. The actions of the past speak more loudly to me. I do not believe that I can trust you not to flush the dragon out of your home and then retreat inside while the rest of us burn. Above all, I cannot risk the dragon escaping Erebor and doing great damage to my people. If you do not manage to slay him there is no saying that we will not find ourselves besieged inside these caverns, or that Smaug will not choose to vent his wrath upon those who live farther afield. We cannot hide the whole world away inside Thranduil's Halls.’

Thorin’s ears rang as if the great warning bell of Dale was being sounded right next to him. Bard would not help them. That meant no black arrow, unless he was to send Nori or Bilbo to steal it from the man. More importantly, it meant a town full of victims for Smaug if they managed to wake the dragon. Reflexively, he rested his elbows on the table and let his head sink into his hands, clenching hanks of hair between his fingers. Bard would force him to choose between Men and Dwarves. How did anyone make such a choice?

The roar of the Company’s outrage and arguments seemed as if it was coming from miles away and nothing else reached through Thorin’s despair. He had failed as surely as he had last time. Either his people would fade away in Ered Luin or the inhabitants of Lake-town would burn in Smaug’s rage. The thought went round and round in his head as he tried to decide what he had done wrong. What step had he missed? What had he said that had turned Bard against them? Vaguely he remembered Balin’s insistence that Thorin could not plan for everything, but it was hard to believe. There must have been _something_ surely. He might have sat like that forever were it not for the sudden hush that fell. Even in his black mood, Thorin recognised that as a bad sign.

Heavy though it felt, Thorin forced his head up and looked around him. Most of those present seemed frozen in place, as if time had suddenly stopped. Ink actually dripped from Ori’s quill where he had apparently stopped writing in mid-sentence.

‘What action would it take, Master Bard?’ Fíli said, his tone making it quite clear that this was the second time he had asked the question.

‘Fíli,’ Balin said warningly, but Fíli brushed his concern aside.

‘There must be something, surely,’ Fíli said to Bard, voice far too patient. Thorin felt a shiver go up his spine but he did not seem to be able to speak up and stop whatever was about to happen. Bard said nothing in response, simply standing there, seemingly as immovable as Erebor itself.

‘Let us make a suggestion, then,’ Kíli spoke, clearly taking up his brother’s thread. ‘Let us have the black arrow and your aid in trying to kill Smaug and my brother and I will stand hostage for Lake-town. Whatever damage is done may be paid for in our punishment. We are the King’s heirs and so should stand as surety for his actions.’

‘No,’ Thorin moaned, voice little more than a whisper. ‘Kíli, no!’ Even so, the boys heard him and two serious faces turned towards him. They looked so much like the children he had raised in Ered Luin. Kíli with his hair ever-messy, even if his ready grin was missing, and Fíli standing so tall, as he always had when about to take the fall for whatever mess they had caused this time. He could not allow them to do this.

‘No,’ Thorin said again, voice more audible and firmer, ‘You will do no such thing. I forbid it.’

‘We are sorry, Uncle,’ Fíli told him sadly, ‘but this time the decision is not yours to make. Unless you intend to lock us away somewhere, we _will_ do this.’

‘I should do exactly that,’ Thorin retorted, though he could hear the shakiness of his voice. ‘This is idiocy and you would be better off confined to your rooms.’

‘You don’t mean that,’ Kíli said with a shake of his head. ‘You raised us too well, Uncle. As you explained in Ered Luin, this is our family’s burden to bear. If there is a price to be paid then we must pay it.’

‘Not you,’ Thorin said and this time his voice actually cracked in the middle of the phrase. ‘It is my price, not yours.’

‘It can’t be though, can it?’ Fíli asked. ‘The king is never the surety in these situations. Our laws would not allow for it.’

It was a nauseating realisation, to know that insisting the boys take their lessons with Balin seriously had led them to this point. For they were right. The laws of the Dwarves allowed for hostages to be exchanged as a surety that promises would be kept, but never the king. To allow that would be to give another clan or race complete power over the people he ruled.

‘What difference is there if both of you are held hostage?’ Thorin argued instead. ‘I have no other heirs but you.’

‘Yes, you do,’ Balin said sadly, and Thorin nearly seized him by the throat and shook him. How dare Balin agree to such madness? Whose side was he on here? ‘You have Dain, Thorin, little though we may like it.’

‘I don’t suppose we could work it so that you were the heir instead?’ Fili asked Balin whimsically. ‘It doesn’t seem very fair that Dain should get to have Erebor as well as the Iron Hills when he didn’t even do anything to get our kingdom back.’

‘This is entirely beside the point,’ Thorin shouted. ‘Neither of you is going to do this. You will be perfectly capable of inheriting the throne yourselves!’

‘It is a solution I could accept,’ Bard said then and Thorin took a grip on the arms of his chair to keep himself from trying to murder the man where he stood. ‘Clearly, they mean much to you. I could believe the promises you made if they were made to keep these two safe.’

‘Oh, that is very generous of you!’ Thorin snarled at him. ‘Would you care to send your three to Erebor with me, then? After all, what reassurance have I that you will not hurt the boys when we are gone?’

‘Thorin,’ Balin said warningly, but Thorin felt perfectly justified in ignoring him. Balin could take his advice and jump off the top of the Misty Mountains with it, if this was where it was going to lead them.

‘He is right,’ Dwalin butted in. ‘It has been said over and over that we cannot predict what Smaug will do when Bilbo enters Erebor. We could be as careful as possible and still find the dragon setting fire to Lake-town when we are done. To have the lads forfeit their lives for that is ridiculous!’

‘It is not ridiculous to try and assure the safety of my people and their home!’ Bard snapped back angrily.

‘We have done so,’ Dwalin argued. ‘Thranduil has offered the greatest protection we can possibly provide for them! We cannot give you any greater assurance.’

‘Then don’t go in,’ Bard told him before turning to look at Thorin. ‘Take your people and return to the Blue Mountains. That is the best advice I can give you.’

Thorin punched him in the face. He had not meant to, at least not in front of the man’s children, but this was more than he could bear. To be presented with two options – doom his sister-sons or doom his people – by a man less than half his age was beyond his ability to tolerate. How would he face Dís? Either way this went, what could he possibly say to her?

‘Uncle,’ Fíli said, drawing his attention and then moving to kneel before him. Thorin’s golden lad bowed his head as he would have as a petitioner in the royal court. ‘It is our duty as princes of our people to give all we have to lessen their suffering. If we died protecting them in battle, it would be no different than what we do here to earn them a home.’

‘Do you think that would make your deaths easier to bear?’ Thorin asked disbelievingly.

‘No,’ Kíli answered, moving to join his brother, ‘but it makes our actions an obligation we cannot ignore just to save our own lives. Besides,’ he added, ‘there is a chance that we won’t die, after all. Bilbo is very quiet.’

‘As if it wasn’t bad enough knowing that I might manage to get us all killed if I mis-stepped,’ Bilbo murmured.

‘You have my answer,’ Bard told Thorin, face drawn with anger. ‘Either the boys remain as your pledge that you will take care and I encourage my people to come here for their safety, or you refuse my request and I will do my best to see that you never make it to Erebor.’

For a wild moment, Thorin wondered if Thranduil would lock Bard in the dungeons and keep him there until they were done. It was a ridiculous notion though. The chances of convincing the Master of Lake-town and all of his people to move to the Woodland Realm was small without the help of one of their own. More than that, relations with Dale would likely never recover if Bard had been kept prisoner. They would need the Men when the orcish army arrived, Thorin could not afford such enmity.

‘The boys will remain,’ Thorin said roughly, angry but unable to risk showing it any further. ‘Get your people moved up here and give me whatever arrows you have. Hopefully we will not need to speak again until the dragon is dead.’

With that Thorin rose and left the room. He had had all of Men that he could stomach this day. He did not see the pain that his anger brought to his nephew’s faces, or the tears that ran down Tilda and Sigrid’s as they hurried to cling to their father.

««««««

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, so, that happened. Sorry? ETA: Sorry if anyone was mid-read when I went back in to change this. The comments revealed an authorial failure that needed fixing.


	18. Coming To Terms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some points will need clarifying before events can move forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morning! Well, for me anyway, possibly not for a lot of you :) This chapter has now been betaed by the amazing ISeeFire who is already helping me massively with realism and also not putting banana peel on Thorin's head. I'm sure you're all very grateful. Thank you to all my commenters/kudos givers from the last chapter. I would like to be able to claim that the huge jump in comments was because this story is hugely popular... but actually it's mostly just because ISeeFire, Judayre and I got carried away. They'll know which part of this chapter is for them :)

Chapter Eighteen: Coming to Terms

The knock on his door some time later did not surprise Thorin one bit. It was a certainty that Balin would come and find him eventually and likely sooner rather than later. Balin was not one to put off unpleasant tasks. Not the way that Thorin did.

Thorin pulled the door open wearily, turning away from it without looking at Balin at all. It was not that he did not know his reaction to that little disaster had been unwise. Right now, he was simply too drained to care. He felt as if he could sleep for an Age and still be tired when he woke.

‘What was that all about?’ Balin asked when he had shut the door firmly behind him.

‘Exactly what it seemed to be about, Balin,’ Thorin replied woodenly.

‘Really? For it seemed as if you were willingly throwing our chances at an alliance with Dale out of the window, but I had hoped that was simply a delusion of my failing mind!’

‘Balin, please,’ Thorin said, looking straight at him, ‘do not pretend that my reaction was entirely unwarranted. He is willing to keep my boys to punish them if my actions do not exactly suit his wishes. There is nothing reasonable about such a request.’

‘Firstly,’ Balin said angrily, ‘it was the boys who suggested such a thing. Secondly, it is not a crime for the man to be concerned for his people and the risks our venture will bring to them. Thirdly, even if it was, he is hardly likely to change his mind now that you have hit him. Finally, how _dare_ you punch that man in front of his daughters? You left them in tears, Thorin!’

‘And I am sorry for it,’ Thorin told him, temper rising once more, ‘but you were all talking very casually of the deaths of the only children I will ever have, Balin. Where does Bard get the right to force me to choose between sacrificing the boys or allowing our people to fade out of the history of this world? It is not as if we were suggesting that he should leave his people in Esgaroth to burn or not as Smaug willed.’

‘We asked for his help,’ Balin scolded, ‘he has the right to offer it or refuse it as he wishes.’

‘Then you believe we should go home?’ Thorin asked him bitingly. ‘Give up all that we have striven for these last few months and return to Ered Luin in disgrace? A fine end for the dwarves of Erebor.’

‘I believe that you should allow Fíli and Kíli to make their own choice here,’ Balin said forcefully. ‘They are princes, it is not unreasonable that they should make such a bargain to further the cause of their people.’

Thorin sank back into the chair he had been sitting in before Balin arrived and closed his eyes.

‘I have allowed it,’ he said wearily. ‘Was that not exactly what I said before I left? They will do as they will and Bard will do as he wishes.’

‘You did, with about as much grace as Thror when he was dealing with Thranduil. You do realise that in doing so you have made it far more likely that the punishments he devises will be harsh?’

‘As we have no idea what he will consider a punishable offence or how he will choose to revenge himself, I confess I had not allowed it to concern me overmuch.’

‘There will be no use speaking to you today, will there?’ Balin asked irritably. ‘Very well, then, wallow if you must. It would have been nice had you thanked your nephews for the solution they had found to our problem, at great personal cost, but by all means allow them to be miserable with guilt at having failed you. Mahal forbid you should worry about any grief but your own!’

With that Balin left, slamming the door rather harder than normal in his anger. Thorin remained where he was. Doubtless he would be more worried about Balin’s displeasure tomorrow but for now he would remain here and wallow, as Balin had directed.

«««

The next knock on Thorin’s door came some hours later, long after dinner would have been eaten and everyone would have retired for the night.

‘Come,’ Thorin called, deciding that he might as well get all of his scoldings over in one day. Bilbo’s head peeked around the door and he entered silently, shutting the door with care.

‘Have you come to ring another peal over my head, Master Baggins?’ Thorin asked him.

‘No,’ Bilbo said with great forbearance, ‘I have come to sympathise actually. I am not exactly keen on Master Bard’s terms myself.’

‘No, I suppose you would not be,’ Thorin replied, considering Bilbo’s situation. He was more than slightly ashamed not to have done so earlier. ‘I am sorry, Bilbo, I had not thought how this might affect you.’

‘You were taken by surprise, as we all were except Fíli and Kíli. I would like to know when those two started scheming, myself.’

‘Last night, unless I miss my mark,’ Thorin informed him. ‘They appeared to have been planning before the meeting began at least, if the looks I saw Fíli giving Kíli were anything to go by. Had I been less distracted by our guests I would have investigated.’

‘Hmm,’ Bilbo agreed, taking the other chair and pulling it closer to where Thorin’s was sat near the fire. ‘I did wonder myself but I dismissed it as a fancy. Well, a fine mess they have dumped us in with their plans.’

‘Balin was rather impressed from what I could tell,’ Thorin said ruefully. ‘He was certainly unimpressed with my reaction.’

‘With the greatest respect to Balin,’ Bilbo responded rather tetchily, ‘ _he_ is not the one who is going to be trying to kill a dragon without causing any harm that might then be visited upon the boys as punishment. Nor are they, for that matter. It would be nice if anyone in that room had considered that I will have quite enough to contend with inside that Mountain without any more to worry about.’

‘I _am_ sorry, Bilbo,’ Thorin said sincerely. ‘We are asking a great deal of you, no matter what else is added to it. It seems extremely unfair to ask it of you when it is not your problem at all.’

‘I do not mind doing it,’ Bilbo told him, then paused for a moment. ‘Well, I must be truthful, I would rather _not_ face a dragon if possible, but there is no one else to do it. If there was they would doubtless have been chosen instead. I have my ring and my wits and that will have to do. I was worried about being able to kill Smaug when we first started, but as long as I can muster my strength I don’t think the actual killing will bother me. He is a truly unpleasant being, from all I have been told, so it won’t do any real harm. I would simply appreciate being given one impossible task at a time, rather than being saddled with responsibility for two dwarven princes and an entire town full of Men as well. From the way Master Bard was going on, one would think my sole aim was to drive Smaug out to burn his town!’

Unbelievably, Thorin found himself laughing. In fact, he could not seem to stop. He laughed until tears were pouring down his face and he could hardly breathe. Bilbo merely watched with the patient air of one who is aware that they are dealing with someone unhinged and has come to terms with the odd behaviour. When finally he could get his breath, Thorin viewed their hobbit with great fondness.

‘You really are the oddest creature, Bilbo Baggins,’ he told Bilbo in amazement.

‘I fear my neighbours and relatives would agree with you,’ Bilbo answered ironically. ‘I will be quite the spectacle when I return to the Shire.’

‘I am sure. You should make the most of it,’ Thorin told him. ‘Surely such eccentricity would allow you to threaten that odious cousin of yours - and his equally odious wife - with Sting at least once!’

‘If only,’ Bilbo replied with a dreamy look on his face. ‘That would be a battle to sing of, if ever there was one.’ Suddenly Bilbo sobered and looked at Thorin once again. ‘You will not blame yourself,’ he said worriedly, ‘if things go amiss for me inside Erebor?’

‘Bilbo, it will be my fault,’ Thorin reminded him gently. ‘Certainly you would never have trekked halfway across the world to try and kill a dragon on your own.’

‘No, I suppose not,’ Bilbo admitted, ‘but really it is entirely Gandalf’s fault. You would never have thought of taking me for a second were it not for the wizard. Besides, as he has absented himself from the quest, he is eminently blameable!’

Thorin chuckled again and shook his head slightly.

‘You said to Thranduil’s council that you entered Erebor out of friendship,’ Thorin said with an air of finality. ‘I am afraid I will have to keep my guilt out of the same. A better friend would have gone himself despite the dangers.’

‘Then the better friend would have risked my being burnt alive outside of Erebor rather than within it and would have proven not so useful to me after all,’ Bilbo stated tartly. ‘Keep your guilt for that which you have a chance of preventing, Thorin Oakenshield. This decision I made myself and you have nothing to do with it at all!’

‘Somehow, I doubt that,’ Thorin told him, ‘but I will do my best to follow my orders, oh great dragon-killer.’

Bilbo’s snort appeared to be involuntary and Thorin smiled to hear it. At least they could still find some amusement in the catastrophe this day had proven to be.

‘Perhaps I had best send one of you to face Smaug, after all,’ the hobbit allowed. ‘Bilbo Dragon-Killer would be a truly ridiculous name for a hobbit.’

‘Too late, Master Baggins,’ Thorin teased him. ‘You have stuck yourself with the task and the title now.’

‘Only if I actually kill him,’ Bilbo said absently, apparently thinking hard for a moment. ‘Thorin, how long would it take someone to learn to shoot a bow well?’

‘I would have no idea,’ Thorin replied in some confusion, ‘I haven’t the slightest skill for archery. You’d be better to ask Kíli, or perhaps Legolas. The elves seem to be born to it, though, so his expectations might be skewed…. Bilbo, what are you planning?’

‘Oh, nothing really, it was just a thought…’ Bilbo trailed off, still caught up inside his own head.

‘Bilbo!’ Thorin said sharply, snapping Bilbo’s attention back to him.

‘If you could make that arrow small enough to be strung on a bow,’ Bilbo posited, ‘and I could learn to fire it well enough to hit my mark, we might have a better chance to do this thing after all. I do not know if it would be possible but hobbits have very good aim generally. If I could master the technique, then perhaps.’

‘We will need to talk to Kíli, then,’ Thorin told him, not convinced it would be possible. He remembered it taking Kíli quite some time to reach the level of proficiency he now possessed, ‘and to the elves. I do not know how we would adjust a bow to suit you.’

‘You will need Kíli to get those arrows made, will you not?’ Bilbo asked him and Thorin had to concede the point. Strong as the arrows were made to be, reworking them without losing that strength was going to be a fiendishly difficult task and of his two nephews Kíli was the better smith.

‘Besides,’ Bilbo said almost immediately, ‘in all likelihood they will laugh at me and tell me it is completely impossible for me to learn what I need in a month. I should probably just focus on my sword training and build up my strength for that last blow.’

‘It is worth the asking,’ Thorin told him. ‘Any possible advantage we can give you would be worth it in the end.’

‘You realise that you need to go and talk to the boys, don’t you?’ Bilbo asked him out of nowhere. Thorin wondered when Bilbo and the rest of the Company had taken to calling Fíli and Kíli "the boys" as he did, as if there could be no others in the world. Then he scolded himself for avoiding answering the question.

‘I do,’ he sighed heavily. ‘I do not like their solution and I still feel there must be a better one somewhere, but it is Bard I am angry with, not them.’

‘Then might I suggest that now would be a good time to tell them so?’ Bilbo asked, though it was clear that he expected the suggestion to be agreed to.

‘Surely, the morning…’ Thorin tried. Bilbo glared at him sternly. ‘Very well, tonight it is then.’

‘There’s a good king,’ Bilbo said in a truly patronising tone. ‘Off you go.’

‘Where, might I ask, are you going?’ Thorin requested of him.

‘To bed, of course,’ Bilbo answered blithely, then scurried out the door to avoid the kick that Thorin aimed at him.

«««

Thorin was unsurprised to hear voices coming from his nephews’ room when he stopped outside. The boys had always been night-owls and they generally found it doubly hard to sleep when they felt they were in disgrace. Even so, he knocked gently and stood all but holding his breath as he waited for their answer.

It was Fíli who opened the door and he was clearly shocked to see his uncle standing outside. He straightened and made a little stuttering sound before he collected himself.

‘Your Majesty,’ he said formally, ‘please, come in.’

Thorin felt like the lowest being on earth. He had meant to keep them safe and had been furious when they undid all his efforts by offering themselves as sacrifices to gain Bard’s support, but he had not wanted to put such distance between them. He might be willing to accept such a distance if it was the price for keeping them alive but he certainly would not relish it.

‘Thank you,’ he said equally formally as he entered.

Kíli sat on the floor by the fire, curled up in a blanket that Thorin was sure Dori had produced from somewhere. It was soft and fleecy and Kíli was burrowed into it as if he was trying to hide from the world. He did not emerge when Thorin came to sit opposite him. The boys had always had opposite reactions to arguments. While Fíli preferred to face them head-on, Kíli sought to avoid them at all costs.

None of them spoke and the silence stretched out uncomfortably. Kíli’s head came to rest on Fíli’s shoulder and Thorin remembered so many nights they had spent like this over the years. Normally he had been part of that circle, however, not set apart from it. It was this thought that gave him the impetus to speak.

‘I was angry earlier,’ he said honestly. ‘I still am in many ways. But not with you, either of you.’

‘You certainly seemed angry with us,’ Fíli said somewhat coldly. ‘You do not normally shout from happiness, Your Majesty.’

‘Fíli, please,’ Thorin said earnestly. ‘I am sorry.’

‘You always are afterwards, Uncle,’ Fíli told him and, while it hurt to hear, Thorin was at least glad that he had dropped the title.

‘Yes, I suppose that is true,’ Thorin acknowledged, ‘but then so are the two of you when you have made a mistake. It is not, I think, in the nature of people to be sorry about something until we have caused damage of some kind.’

‘We were only trying to help,’ Kíli said in a small voice.

‘I know, akhûnith,’ Thorin responded, ‘but you must try to understand - you have handed Bard a weapon that I cannot fight against. Your mother and I have lost all else we have ever had, Dís even more than I. Mother, father, brother, grandfather, husband. To lose you would break her. It would break both of us. Bard is not a stupid man. He knows that.’

‘You think he would use it?’ Fíli asked, frowning in concern.

‘I do not know,’ Thorin told him heavily. ‘I would hope not. The man loves his children more than anything, I have to hope that he would be unwilling to truly harm someone else’s. Yet, you are not children in his eyes. You are grown dwarves who go to war with the rest of us. I do not know what he would consider to be a just punishment for whatever offence we might commit. I do not even know what he would consider to be an offence. Will he punish you if Lake-town burns? Or if their crops and cattle are destroyed by the dragon? Or only if his people are harmed? Will he consider those who might choose to stay in Esgaroth victims of our actions or their own? There are so many questions and I can answer none of them. The deal has been made without the terms ever being set.’

The boys took some time to digest this and Thorin sat as patiently as he could. If the boys noticed that he was twisting his ring yet again, they made no comment upon it.

‘Then it is not what we did that you object to but how we did it?’ Fíli questioned then. ‘It needed to be done, Uncle.’

‘It is not something that I would ever have chosen to do,’ Thorin explained, ‘but I cannot ask you to act as princes and then refuse to allow you your own opinions. I can tell you, though, that your grandfather would have tanned both of your hides for such behaviour. The first rule of such negotiations is that no offer is ever made without warning _all_ of your own representatives beforehand.’

Fíli winced at that and Thorin decided that they had been taught this rule and then conveniently forgotten it because they knew he would object to their plan. The look he turned upon Fíli was knowing and displeased and Fíli dropped his head slightly.

‘I don’t think Bard will be completely unreasonable, Uncle,’ Kíli suggested. ‘If we were to ask these questions I think he would answer them for us.’

‘Possibly not as easily as he might have done before Uncle punched him,’ Fíli pointed out in a dry tone that made Thorin want to borrow Kíli’s blanket to hide under. The lad had been taking lessons from his mother, Thorin was sure of it.

‘I will admit that that might have been a mistake,’ Thorin said with a grimace. ‘I _am_ sorry that I hit him in front of the children, however richly he may have deserved it. I will not act as if I am content with his choices though. There was no real need for this hostage situation and we all know it.’

‘No, maybe not. It will be difficult to deal with him in the morning as things stand though, and Fíli and I will be here with them for some weeks while you all go to Erebor. I would rather not have the children angry with us all the while.’ Kíli said seriously.

‘That is… probably a valid point,’ Thorin admitted. He had not considered this in his righteous anger and truly it was not the children’s fault that their father was a cold-hearted son of an orc who kept other people’s loved ones hostage for no reason.

‘Could you apologise, Uncle?’ Fíli asked him. ‘I mean, could you fake a sincere apology for him?’

Thorin debated this point with himself. Could he? Mahal knew he did not want to. All he really wanted to do was hit Bard several more times and then watch Smaug stamp him into the ground afterwards. Such things were merely pleasant fantasies, however. In reality, Bard still had what he needed and he would shortly have power over Thorin’s nephews. For that, for them, he could have pretended sincerity. He would not though. If Bard was to demand things entirely his own way then he would have to accept that there could be no friendship between them. They would be political allies only and he would receive no apology from Thorin for a situation of Bard’s own making.

‘I might be able to but I do not feel it would be a good idea at this juncture,’ Thorin told them. ‘As it stands, Bard holds far too much power in this negotiation. He has everything that he wishes as well as the power to decide whether our actions have been suitably careful. I will not give him any more rope with which to hang us, even if it does mean that I will have to attempt to talk Balin out of murdering me in my sleep come the morning.’

‘Did Balin shout at you, too?’ Kíli asked innocently.

‘He shouted at you?’ Thorin asked, more than a little annoyed.

‘Him and Dwalin,’ Kíli confirmed, ‘although I think some of the others wanted to come too and Balin told them they couldn’t. I’m sure I saw Nori going round the corner when I opened the door to let them out.’

‘The sneaky hypocrite,’ Thorin muttered to himself. ‘There he is shouting at me about shouting at you and then he comes here and shouts at you as well.’

‘There was far too much shouting going on,’ Fíli agreed. ‘That would be a good way to sum up this day in fact. Thranduil probably wants to gag us all.’

‘Thranduil was probably thoroughly entertained,’ Thorin griped, but it was mostly for form’s sake. If Thranduil was happy to see them at each other’s throats he would not have tried to mediate.

‘In any case,’ Fíli said, using the regal tone he occasionally slipped into now, ‘the damage is done and now we need to control it.’

‘We do,’ Thorin agreed, ‘in the morning. For now, I am going to bed and you two should as well.’

‘Yes, Uncle,’ they chorused and for a moment, if only a moment, it was as if nothing had changed since they were dwarflings.

«««

Thorin’s conversation with Balin the next morning was short and brutal but they ended on speaking terms once more, so Thorin considered it a success. They managed to gather the whole Company together without any murders being committed and they were all there, waiting to deal with Bard when he arrived. Thorin carefully suppressed his satisfaction at the black eye Bard was sporting. It did make him grin internally to think that Thranduil had clearly not been happy with Bard either. Had he wished, the Elven King could have had one of his healers remove the damage easily enough.

When Bard and the children entered, they stopped just over the threshold and Thorin viewed them carefully. Something was not well within the family, he decided. If anything, the children were clearly apart from their father and all three stood utterly, and unusually, still. Bard himself presented only a blank face but that in itself made Thorin wonder what was going on. For someone who had managed to get the dwarves exactly where he wanted them the day before, he did not seem to be exhibiting as much joy as Thorin had expected.

After an awkward pause, Bain and Sigrid turned to their father and gave him stern looks which suggested that they were expecting him to do something and would like to see it done now. Bard took a deep breath and then stepped forward.

‘I will not take back all that I said yesterday,’ he began, giving the most infinitesimal of flinches at the rumble of anger from the Company. ‘I have little reason to think well of dwarves and a great deal to lose if your quest fails. As I said before, if you do not manage to kill the dragon we might well find ourselves besieged and starved out of our hiding place.’

Thorin was beginning to wonder why, exactly, Bard felt the need to reiterate the points he had made yesterday, when Bain pointedly cleared his throat. Bard threw a warning look at his son, who shrank slightly but did not drop his gaze. After a moment, Bard nodded and Bain looked away.

‘However,’ Bard continued more firmly, ‘it has been brought to my attention by my children that my actions yesterday were reprehensible in some aspects and that this,’ here he touched his eye lightly, ‘was not entirely undeserved. I will still make the surety of one of your nephews a condition for my aid. I have heard much of the gold-sickness that Thror suffered from. While you might intend to keep your promises now, I would fear otherwise that they might be reneged upon once the Mountain is yours once more. However, the children were correct in saying that there is no reason why I need have both of them with me.’

‘Then I will remain,’ Fíli said immediately, his tone making it clear that he would hear no argument on this point.

‘Fíli,’ Kíli began, only to be cut short.

‘One word about which of us is the heir and I will use your bow and all of your arrows for firewood,’ Fíli told him firmly. ‘We are neither of us any more important to Uncle than the other, but my daggers will be little use against a dragon should things go ill. Let Erebor have its archer to defend it. I will stay here.’

‘He is right, Kíli,’ Dwalin said, voice more gentle than it normally was. After some moments Kíli nodded his agreement.

‘Very well,’ Thorin also agreed. Bard seemed to take that as a signal that this part of their discussion was over and the family moved to sit down. Bard stopped once, briefly, leaning down so that Tilda could whisper rapidly in his ear. He seemed to war with himself for a moment, then nodded, and the girl shot across the room and scrambled into the chair next to Bifur. The dwarf gave a wide smile and signed a greeting which she returned happily.

‘As yesterday ended with a certain amount of… upheaval,’ Thranduil began, choosing the last word with apparent care, ‘it is probably a good idea to go over what was agreed.’

‘Very well,’ Bard agreed. ‘Master Fíli is to stand as surety that the dwarves will keep faith with my people.’

‘Which I will accept,’ Thorin said with deliberate calm, digging the edge of the chair into his palms to allow him to keep that calm, ‘but I think we must make the matter perfectly clear to avoid any unfortunate misunderstandings.’

With that they were off. The discussion lasted at least two hours by Thorin’s reckoning. Ori could barely scribble fast enough to keep up with the ideas that were proposed, dismissed and altered. Finally, however, they reached an agreement. Thorin looked to Ori and signalled him to sum up what had been decided.

‘Fíli, as Thorin’s heir, will be considered liable for any damage done to the persons of Esgaroth’s people by the dragon, as this will be considered a consequence of our decision to enter Erebor. He will not be considered liable for any damage done to anyone who refuses Thranduil’s protection in the week following our entry into Erebor. Should Smaug emerge after such a time has elapsed and cause harm to those present in Esgaroth, it will be considered that their deaths come as a consequence of our actions and appropriate measures will be taken. Fíli will also be liable for any crops or cattle destroyed by Smaug at any time following our entry into Erebor, as our failure to kill him will be considered the cause of their destruction. If we are gone for more than a month and no sign of Smaug is seen, it will be accepted that the dragon is dead and that we died in the act of killing him and Fíli will be released to go about his life as normal,’ Ori’s voice quivered a bit at this last section and Dori patted his shoulder gently.

‘Appropriate punishment is considered to be anything up to death, depending on the severity of the damage done, but does not include anything which is likely to cause disfigurement or gratuitous pain,’ now Ori’s voice had steadied once more and his disgust at the last sentence was clear. ‘At all times during this period of confinement Fíli will remain in the Woodland Realm. King Thranduil is to be present at any incident of punishment. Should he believe that such an incident is out of proportion with the offence or otherwise against the terms of the agreement then he has the right to prevent such from taking place. I can’t believe we actually had to agree all this,’ Ori whispered to Balin at the end. Balin shushed him gently but firmly.

‘All parties accept the terms?’ Thranduil asked formally.

‘I do,’ Fíli stated with all the gravity of one signing his life away for the sake of his people.

‘I do,’ Bard repeated.

‘Yes,’ Thorin answered shortly.

‘Then sign and it is done,’ Thranduil commanded and with that Thorin heard a figurative dungeon door clang shut. They were committed to the attempt and to the terms now. If anything went wrong… it did not bear thinking about.

««««««


	19. The Birth of a Rebellion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ideas and new allies can be explored now that negotiations are out of the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to ISeeFire for the very efficient beta! They are now out of Mirkwood (some of them, for part of the chapter). I'm so relieved! Thank you to all commenters and kudos-givers, as always. You're all amazing :)

Chapter Nineteen: The Birth of a Rebellion

In an effort to avoid Bard as much as possible, Thorin escaped the meeting room as quickly as possible. He had intended to return to his room and perhaps sleep some more (this healing business really was a great deal more annoying than he remembered) but as he exited the room the elven contingent followed him and he heard Bilbo calling his name.

‘Thorin, I have asked if I might speak to Legolas and Tauriel about the idea we discussed last night,’ Bilbo explained when Thorin stood still. ‘Would you care to join us?’

Thorin paused before speaking. Not that he would object, but it seemed like a strange request to make. It was not as if Thorin was of any use to man or beast when it came to archery. Well, possibly to beasts that were being hunted. He’d certainly be very good at missing.

‘The royal quarters are heavily guarded,’ Tauriel remarked as if she were commenting on the weather. ‘Certainly, no one who did not have an invitation from the King or his son would be allowed to enter.’

Thorin immediately decided that the Elves of the Woodland Realm were going to be _richly_ rewarded for their assistance in retaking Erebor. The dwarves had been missing out on truly wonderful allies all this time.

‘It would be my pleasure to join you,’ he informed the quartet. ‘We should move quickly.’

‘That was our thought,’ Thranduil assured him and the group moved away at a pace that would have been considered undignified by anyone who saw them. Luckily no one did until they were at the entrance to the royal wing, by which time they had slowed again.

Within Thranduil’s rooms they arrayed themselves around the fire. The one problem with living underground, Thorin had to admit, even as a dwarf, was that heating caves was really quite difficult. In Erebor the huge furnaces used almost constantly in the smithies had provided a certain amount of ambient heat but Thranduil’s Halls really could get chilly after the sun went down.

Thranduil was once again sprawled in his chair in a most un-kingly manner, matched by the way that his son was sprawled on the rug in front of the fire.

‘Something tells me,’ Thorin remarked dryly to Thranduil, ‘that your son comes by his tendency to sit on tables naturally.’

‘Father!’ Legolas exclaimed, apparently somewhat embarrassed. ‘Did you have to tell him about that? It has been at least ten years since I have done so.’

‘Ten years since you have done so in public,’ Thranduil reminded him in the reproving tone that Thorin often used on the boys when they were stretching the truth. ‘Besides, if you wished to appear decorous in front of our guests you should not have placed poor Master Baggins on your lap earlier.’

Tauriel let out a giggle that she tried to turn into a clearing of her throat when Legolas pinned her with a look of betrayal. Bilbo did not even try to hide his amusement.

‘You are right, though,’ Thranduil admitted to Thorin. ‘My wife had a theory that it came from too much time sitting so primly upright on an uncomfortable throne. I always have an urge to slouch when no one is watching.’

As he said this he reached forward to pour them all some of the wine that seemed to be a permanent feature on the table, though the fact that it was nicely chilled made it clear that it could not be. Somewhere, Thorin decided, Thranduil was hiding a very efficient servant who obviously stalked his or her master so that they could produce wine at the perfect moment. Then he shook his head sharply to rid himself of such ridiculous thoughts. Captain Tauriel seemed to be about to refuse her glass but Thranduil held up his hand to silence her.

‘Do not worry, Tauriel,’ he told her, ‘you are not on duty. I have kept a distance between us up until now, so that I could avoid hearing the truth I knew you spoke about the evil on our borders. If I am to be kept on the right path much of that distance will need to disappear, I imagine. You are here as an advisor to the King as well as a Guard Captain. Outside these rooms I will expect your obedience but not your silence. Your words will hold as much weight as any other of my council. In here you may consider yourself friend, not subject.’

Tauriel seemed briefly overwhelmed by this announcement but Legolas was clearly overjoyed. Thorin was glad for them both. The tensions between Thranduil’s council and Captain Tauriel had been obvious when they had first met to discuss the quest. Clearly Tauriel had been viewed as a lesser servant of the King or else his advisors would not have dared to treat her so. Equally clearly, Legolas greatly respected Tauriel and valued both her opinions and her friendship. Her lesser position must have made life more difficult for both of them. If Thranduil was to allow her into his inner circle then much would be easier for the two.

‘Now,’ Thranduil said once all were served, ‘what was it you wished to ask us Master Baggins?’

‘Bilbo, please,’ the hobbit requested. ‘It seems odd to be the only person in here using a formal title.’

Thorin didn’t think that Tauriel would be able to bring herself to call Thranduil by name rather than by title until long after the non-elves in the room were both dead but he understood Bilbo’s point.

‘Of course,’ Thranduil said munificently. ‘How may we help, Bilbo?’

‘It was advice as much as anything,’ Bilbo told the elves. ‘You are all skilled warriors and I know that Legolas and Tauriel are very adept at archery. I wondered if it would be possible for me to learn enough to be competent before I go to confront Smaug. I thought it might be more effective for me to shoot him from a distance than to try and get right up close so that I could stab him.’

All three of the elves seemed to consider this idea seriously for a few minutes, for which Thorin was thankful. Perhaps if they were considering it closely there might be something to it. The more skills that Bilbo possessed when he went inside Erebor, the happier Thorin would be. Then his hopes were dashed.

‘I am sorry, Bilbo,’ Legolas said, sounding truly sincere, ‘but I do not think it could be done. Given another two or three months I have no doubt that we could make you into an archer. Kíli mentioned how good your aim is in one of our conversations, so I have no doubt you could be very skilled with a bow. I simply do not think a month would be enough time. Archery uses a completely different type of strength than swordplay and if we did not train you well enough you might do more damage to yourself than to Smaug.’

Thorin was relieved to see that Bilbo did not seem devastated by the news. He really was very resilient, though, so Thorin could not be surprised. Bilbo generally handled disappointment far better than Thorin himself, after all.

‘Never mind,’ Bilbo said with a smile that was small but genuine. ‘I had a feeling that might be the case but it seemed worthwhile to ask anyway. One never knows.’

‘It does not mean you cannot try to learn,’ Tauriel pointed out. ‘It is a useful skill to have in any event and there is no saying you will not pick it up quicker than most.’

‘I think I would like to learn,’ Bilbo told her seriously, ‘but I am new enough to swordplay that I probably need to continue practising that before I go. Smaug may not fight back with a blade, but I would not like to forget what I know when I panic. I’m fairly sure I _will_ panic,’ he finished, still smiling very slightly.

‘I think we would _all_ panic,’ Thranduil said ruefully. ‘In fact I know that we would.’

His hand reached to touch his cheek and Legolas looked very sad. Thorin remembered the wounds that Thranduil had revealed in his anger last time and understood the sadness. Some injuries Thorin would not wish even upon Bard - though not many, it had to be said.

‘We should leave you to your evening,’ Thorin said with a certain amount of reluctance. Quite apart from his wish to avoid Bard as much as possible, he actually found Thranduil, Legolas and Tauriel entertaining much of the time. If nothing else, watching Thranduil with Legolas reminded him that he was not the only paternal figure to enjoy tormenting his charges or to be extremely frustrated with them on occasion.

The knowing look that Thranduil gave him led Thorin to believe that the first part of his reasoning had been discerned very easily. Thranduil’s next words confirmed it.

‘Do not hurry away if you do not wish to,’ Thranduil said with a small smirk. ‘I would not like to think that I forced you into Master Bard’s company when I could have helped you to avoid it.’

None of the others even pretended that they were not laughing. Thorin considered taking offence and then decided that it was ridiculous to do so. They were right and he knew it as well as they did. Instead he smirked back at Thranduil, picking up his wine glass again.

‘I would not like to inconvenience you,’ Thorin informed the other King, ‘or to keep you from your other guests. I could return to my room and I am sure Bilbo would be happy to tell Master Bard that he is welcome to join you for the evening.’

Thranduil’s glare was honed by years of experience and Thorin was certain that it would have set his hair ablaze had Thranduil had Gandalf’s magical abilities. Bilbo looked on in amusement, exclaiming laughingly, ‘Leave me out of your disagreements if you please! I am no more eager to see Bard than you are.’

In the end Thorin and Thranduil called a silent truce and the evening was spent discussing topics of little importance. It was a pleasant change from the weighty discussions that seemed to make up most of Thorin’s days at the moment and it also left Thorin feeling a step closer to considering the elves as friendly allies rather than allies of necessity.

«««

Despite his wish to avoid Bard indefinitely, Thorin did have to spend a certain amount of time with the man during the next week or so. For a start he had to travel to Esgaroth in order to find a forge which Kíli and he could use to re-forge the black arrow which Bard was now bound to provide them with. Equally important was the necessity of having Thorin there as evidence that the story Bard was to spread about was true.

Just to ensure that they had all the evidence they would need, Legolas had chosen to accompany Thorin and Bard as well. He was, apparently, known to a few of the older townspeople, having visited at some point around 50 years before. These people could confirm that he was the Crown Prince of the Woodland Realm and so could speak on his father’s behalf and Legolas could confirm that Thorin was, in fact, the King of Erebor and so had the right to make promises regarding its wealth.

They began their attempts not with the Master, to Thorin’s relief, but with those in the town whom Bard felt were the most respected. The first, Bard told them, would be the town’s midwife, Halma.

‘There’s no one in Lake-town Halma does not know,’ he told Legolas, studiously avoiding glancing at Thorin. ‘She delivered most of them. People will listen to her if she tells them there will be danger. The more people we can convince to leave through her, the more will go simply because the rest of them are.’

That, at least, Thorin could agree with. Any leader knew that people liked to keep up with their neighbours and no one wanted to look the fool if they did something that turned out to be unnecessary.

Halma was a lady who was aging gracefully. Her hair had gone a beautiful shade of white rather than the wiry grey that Thorin suspected his own would go if he ever managed to live that long. Her face was wrinkled but in such a way that it seemed she had always been so, that she had in fact been made for this stage of her life. She had never been beautiful herself, Thorin decided. In fact, she was average in almost every way. Average of height, average of build, of average attractiveness.

Yet somehow she radiated kindness and wisdom and Thorin had no doubt that the women she aided believed that they could trust her with everything, including the babe they carried. Once or twice, he caught a hint of strength in her gaze that made him believe Halma had a will of mithril when tested. No man argued with this woman more than once and she would never suffer the fate of being called a hedge-witch, driven from the town with stones and curses when the crops began to fail. For their purposes she was perfect. The necessity of agreeing with Bard put a sour taste in Thorin’s mouth.

‘Well,’ Halma said gently when she let their in to her small, pristine rooms, ‘this is a collection of gentle-folk such as my home will never see again. You have not needed me for some years, Master Bard, and if either of these fine gentlemen has a babe that needs birthing no doubt they would turn to their own people. What is it you need me for?’

‘I should be ashamed of myself,’ Bard said with a softness he had previously only shown his children, bending to kiss her cheek. ‘I should not see you so seldom that you ask that question as soon as I arrive.’

‘Hush, sweetling,’ she scolded affectionately. ‘I, more than anyone, know the time that children take when they are raised alone. I hold no grudges and never have.’

‘You raised you own children alone, Mistress Halma?’ Legolas asked, appearing genuinely interested.

‘Aye, my Lord,’ she responded, eyeing his clothing with a knowing gaze. ‘All five of them after my man died of the flux. ‘Twas Bard’s father that fought the Master when he tried to throw us out of our lodgings because we could not pay, so he’s always welcome here no matter what anyone else might say.’

‘They’ve been at it again, then,’ Bard sighed wearily. ‘Alfrid and his minions.’

‘They have, sweetling,’ Halma told him regretfully. ‘As soon as they realised you were gone and the children with you. Some nosy gabbler with more hair than wit blabbed that an elf had been seen going into your home and the next thing I knew it was all over town that you’d gone to deal with King Thranduil and sell us out to better yourself. What, exactly, you were supposed to be selling they conveniently never mentioned.’

Bard cursed irritably under his breath and received a motherly look of scolding. The sheepish expression and swift apology would have made Thorin grin but he was too busy being irritated at being forced to feel some sympathy for Fíli’s gaoler.

‘This will make our task harder,’ Bard announced, still aiming his comments at Legolas rather than Thorin. ‘Most people have ignored the Master these last twenty years or more, once his vanity and power-hunger became obvious, but there are always fools who are willing to believe any nasty gossip they hear. If he’s been spreading it about that I’m trying to form some sort of deal with the elves… well, Master Oakenshield’s appearance likely won’t help matters.’

‘Indeed,’ Thorin said, unable to resist the opening. ‘Is there something I should know?’

‘Let us say only this,’ Bard replied with a certain bite in his tone, ‘when a person has done something foolish or cruel in this town, they are said to be “as mad as a dwarven king”.’

Thorin heard himself hiss in anger but in some ways he was not surprised. How many times had a dwarf in Ered Luin used the phrase “faithless as an elf”? These were the phrases people used, no matter if they no longer remembered their origin. Here, in the shadow of the Mountain, he imagined that the origin was remembered well enough.

Legolas looked worried at this news and Thorin could not blame him. To ask an entire town to move to a neighbouring kingdom would be a mad request in many people’s eyes. These people had jobs, families, responsibilities, even livestock. Even in a town this size there must be babes about to be born, funerals to be suffered through, weddings to be celebrated in the next month or so. One of the reasons they had come to Halma was the difficulty of convincing any protective husbands that it was worth their while to put their heavily-pregnant wives through the ordeal of a three or four day journey to Mirkwood in a bumpy cart. Some of the townspeople would be convinced Smaug was dead and a dead dragon caused little fear.

‘Will he work against us?’ Thorin forced himself to ask Bard. ‘If the Master hears of what we are doing will he openly oppose us?’

‘If he hears that I am a part of it he is bound to,’ Bard muttered, running his hand through his hair. ‘He will be convinced it is a bid for power. The man thinks of nothing else these days. I warned Captain Tauriel my absence would be remarked. Nothing good ever comes of my changing my routine.’

‘What else is there for him to think of?’ Halma said then, with a surprising amount of bitterness in one who seemed so kindly. ‘He has his fine house and his servants and his rich food and wine. He even has his statue looming above us. He has naught to worry about except how to keep his comfortable life!’

Drawn out of his own concerns for a moment, Bard wrapped his arm around Halma’s shoulders and squeezed slightly. For just a moment she rested her weight against him, some old grief showing on her face. There was more to her tale than he would likely ever know, Thorin was certain. The Master had an enemy in Halma, as sure as sunrise.

‘It cannot be helped,’ Legolas said after allowing Halma a moment to recover herself. ‘Though I will apologise if Tauriel pressed too hard for your presence. We are none of us used to gainsaying the King when he gives an order and it has been too long since any of my people visited Esgaroth for more than a day. We had no idea the situation here was so different than it used to be.’

‘That is the trouble with mortal lives, Prince Legolas,’ Bard remarked with a little sarcasm, not seeming to notice Halma’s slight gasp of surprise. ‘Things change more quickly when you have less time to change them in.’

‘Bard, son of Brand,’ Halma said, that mithril spine evident in her voice, ‘exactly how many members of royalty do I currently have in my kitchen?’

‘Only the two, Mistress Halma,’ Thorin told her, bowing deeply. He liked this fierce woman with the gentle eyes. She reminded him a great deal of the mother he had not seen for longer than Halma had lived. ‘Thorin Oakenshield, King of the former people of Erebor, at your service.’

‘Oh my,’ Halma said slowly, eyes wide. ‘Oh you are going to set the cat among the pigeons, aren’t you, my dear?’ She seemed entirely unconscious of the fact that Thorin was a great deal older than she was but he took no offence. He imagined she had been calling everyone dear since she was little more than a girl herself.

‘It seems entirely possible,’ Thorin replied ruefully. ‘I have not been in these parts since before you were born. Legolas was not the only one who did not realise how much things would have changed.’

‘Hmm,’ she said mildly, considering him carefully and then moving over to the bench of herbs that said against one wall of her main room. Without appearing to notice, she began bundling them, tying up the bundles and then hanging them from a beam on the ceiling to dry. Clearly this was how she thought best and the males in the room knew better than to interrupt.

Halma weighed what she had learned, what little she had been told of their plans, for some time while her visitors stood as quietly as little boys awaiting their mother’s judgement. Once the table was clear of its previous burden she have a small sharp nod and turned to survey them once more.

‘All things change,’ Halma told them, unknowingly echoing Thranduil’s sentiment from some days before. ‘For Men more swiftly than for either Elves or Dwarves. I think it is time that some of that change came to Lake-town. Time for a new Master, perhaps.’

Bard looked startled but immediately afterwards extremely worried. The reaction surprised Thorin, who would have expected a little more joy at the possible downfall of his enemy. Bard very rarely seemed to feel as Thorin expected him to, however. Thorin was beginning to wonder if the man ever had a predictable reaction at all.

‘Halma, that is dangerous talk,’ Bard warned with visible anxiety. ‘The Master has a finger in every pie of this town and he will not go anywhere without a fight. Even more, he has not served this town so badly over the years. Yes, he is greedy and loves himself more than most men love their wives, but he has encouraged trade and kept us from disappearing entirely off the map. He shows his best face to those with the power to keep him here. You could lose everything trying to oppose him.’

‘You could, sweetling,’ she said in the motherly tone she used with him normally. ‘I have little to worry about losing. There will always be babies born and until I finish training Freya there’s no one else in the town to birth them. All my chicks flew this nest long ago. What can he do to me?’

‘There are physicians, Halma,’ Bard pointed out unwillingly and Thorin soon found out why.

‘Bah!’ Halma almost spat. ‘Physicians! What do they know of bringing babes into the world? Men, all of them. None of them ever stood in a birthing chamber turning a babe determined to come into the world backwards. None of them ever noticed the signs of birthing sickness in a woman before it became obvious to the pigs in their troughs. No woman in this town wants a _physician_ with them when they go into labour.’

Bard had quite obviously expected this tirade and Thorin suspected that it, or a version of it, had been a refrain of Halma’s for quite some time. It was impressive in its virulence if nothing else. Halma said nothing that could not be repeated anywhere but she said it with a deep conviction.

‘Halma, he is not a man to let any opposition go unpunished,’ Bard said almost desperately.

‘And I am not a woman to cower down before a man when it is better for my patients to face him. I have done a very good imitation of it for a very long time but this whole town is my patient by now. Whatever you need is important for their health or you would not have come to me. If that _man_ wishes to fight me on it then he is welcome to try. He will lose.’

Thorin was adult enough to admit that he was more than slightly terrified. This, he thought in horror, would be the way Dís would go if ever he fell to the gold-sickness and seemed to be dragging Erebor to disaster. Righteous wrath which was truly a sight to behold.

Luckily, Halma did not seem the type to stay at the height of fury for very long at all. Having vented her spleen she calmed once more and laughed lightly at the expression on Bard’s face.

‘Do not look so worried, sweetling,’ she teased Bard. ‘I am not going to storm his mansion and drag him to the Lake to throw him in! I meant only that I will not let him bully me into ignoring whatever problem you believe needs solving. Which would be a great deal easier if you told me what the problem was.’ This last was clearly a pointed command and Legolas, as the calmest of the three, chose to begin.

‘We need your aid in persuading your people to take refuge in my realm for some time, Mistress Halma,’ he informed her openly. ‘Thorin has come, with some of his people, to try to slay the dragon which inhabits the Mountain at last. Unfortunately, that….’

‘Puts my people right in the line of Smaug’s fire,’ Halma completed for him. ‘Well, I’ll give you this Master Oakenshield,’ she said dryly directly to Thorin, ‘when you return to an area you make sure your return will be memorable.’

Thorin laughed loudly, while Bard looked on unhappily and Legolas fought his own laughter. Oh yes, he thought, this one I like. She and Balin would be dangerous indeed!

««««««


	20. Turning The Tide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the Master of Lake-town, the coming of the dwarves is an unfortunate occurrence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay with this chapter - it is one of the longest I have written and took quite a long time to put together. There is even more talking than usual (if such a thing is possible) so I hope you're all feeling brave :)
> 
> Thank you to everyone who commented or left kudos on the last chapter and thank you to ISeeFire for the beta. We'll win the battle with the commas eventually!

Chapter Twenty: Turning the Tide

Once the situation had been described to Halma fully she assured Thorin, Legolas and Bard that she would get as many of the townsfolk into the Woodland Realm as possible.

‘It is a truly generous thing your father does for us, Your Highness,’ she told Legolas, gratitude clear in her voice. ‘We will be quite the burden upon you but I will feel a great deal safer inside rock and stone than in a town made of wood.’

‘I fear we cannot claim any credit for the idea, Mistress Halma,’ was Legolas’ response. ‘It was Thorin who introduced the idea to my father and it is the money he will find in Erebor which will alleviate the burden placed upon our kingdom.’

‘Then I will say the same to you, Your Majesty,’ Halma said, turning to Thorin and curtseying slightly. ‘I am truly grateful for your forethought. To be unprotected here when Smaug comes would be a terrible thing.’

Halma’s gratitude made Thorin even more uncomfortable than it seemed to make Bard. Whether these people knew it or not, whether they remembered it or not, their friends and neighbours – possibly even Halma herself – had burned in dragonfire through Thorin’s lack of concern for them. It had never even occurred to him that he should work to ensure that they were safe. Nor had it occurred to the Master or the people themselves. They had all been blinded by gold in one way or another. The Men had an excuse at least. None of them remembered the fury of Smaug’s destruction. Thorin ought to have known better. It stung even more knowing that in Thorin’s previous life, Bard had been the one to realise how dangerous Thorin’s plan was for Lake-town. Then he had been the better of the two of them.

‘Enough have burned because of Smaug, Mistress Halma,’ was all he said in return. ‘I would rather your people were safely away from here.’

‘Of course,’ she said instantly. ‘What that beast will take it into his head to do if he wakens none of us can know. Better we are safe than sorry.’

Thorin was distracted from his guilt for a moment or two by the sight of Bard practically squirming with his own discomfort. Every word Halma spoke made his own reaction seem distrustful and graceless in comparison. Let him squirm, Thorin thought bitterly, maybe it would stay his hand when things inevitably went wrong with Smaug.

‘You’ll need to speak to Varr Draper and his wife,’ Halma instructed them. ‘Of all of the powerful men in the town, Varr’s the one who respects Bard most and the Master least. He’ll help if we can convince him of the need. His wife is always ahead with the fashions from Minas Tirith and the richer women of the town have become used to copying all that she does. Get them on side and their men will move one way or another. None of them will want to be the fool left behind as his wife rides off to the Elven King’s realm.’

‘You will accompany us?’ Thorin asked Halma, hoping that she intended to.

‘Aye, I will. Berthe Draper has three little ones I’ve delivered. She’s sour as vinegar and turns her nose up at the “commoners” but she’s not stupid. If I turn up accompanied by royalty she’ll hear me out, if only so she can get all the gossip and be able to tell the world that royalty called on her. Varr, I’ll leave to you. He’s a good man and a fair one but he’s not one to be led by the nose and he’ll listen to princes and kings better than he will the midwife.’

Plan set, the trio made their way through Lake-town easily enough. Legolas stood out the most, with the finer clothes, tall build, grace and ash-blond hair of his people. Thorin used the attention the elf attracted to try to fade into the background. Better they got to talk to those they needed before the whole town was abuzz with the tale of dwarves near the Mountain again.

Varr and Berthe Draper were near exactly as Halma had described them. Varr had the serious but not forbidding air of a man used to responsibility and determined to fulfil his as best he could. Berthe was an attractive woman who would be more attractive still if she did not always appear to be smelling something unpleasant. Their children gravitated mostly to their father and seemed thrilled to see such unusual guests, but eyed their mother warily rather than approaching as Tilda, Sigrid and Bain had.

Varr Draper gave Halma the slightest of smiles when he came to greet her, so slight that Thorin would not have called it such had he not just spent the last week or more trying to decipher Thranduil’s facial expressions. No wonder the man had a reputation for being dour.

‘Halma,’ Varr said calmly, ‘unless you know something I do not, this is not a working visit.’

Berthe gave a sniff of displeasure, whether at the attempt at levity or at the suggestion she might be pregnant again Thorin was not sure.

‘It is not, Master Draper,’ Halma assured him. ‘I do not usually bring guests when I am visiting my ladies.’

‘I should think not,’ Berthe said snippily. ‘I would very much like to know why you are bringing them now. If you had business with one of the servants you ought to have gone in the side door.’

‘Forgive me, Mistress Draper,’ Legolas said in a tone so mild and polite that Thorin had a suspicion the elf did not feel mild at all, ‘I have not visited Lake-town in so long, I was not aware that one let visiting royalty in through the side door. Of course, we will remove ourselves at once and I shall take care I do not make the same mistake twice.’

Berthe Draper’s face took on the expression of one who had been slapped with a wet fish, though Mahal knew no one had ever dared to do so to this woman, Thorin was sure. For a moment she simply gaped, while the children gazed longingly at this fascinating new person and the eldest seemed to be itching to find out if Legolas was really carrying weapons. Legolas himself stayed entirely still and completely upright, every inch the Crown Prince too polite to show his disgust at how he had been greeted. Berthe had just started making noises which might eventually become words when her husband decided to step in.

‘My lord, I offer my sincerest apologies,’ he said solemnly. ‘It has been so long since we have had company outside of our own people that we have apparently forgotten our responsibilities as hosts. Please, all of you, come and sit down in the parlour. We are honoured to have you visit us.’

The eldest of the boys tried subtly to follow the group into the parlour, his brothers not far behind him, but was quickly caught by his mother.

‘Eric,’ she snapped, ‘take your brothers back upstairs. You should all be at your lessons.’

Their faces fell and Eric recoiled sharply as if he had been hit. Backs ramrod straight in the way of those who have spent much time being told to “stop slouching”, all three began to retreat towards the stairs. Thorin sincerely hoped the lads would not regret his next words later.

‘If you please, Master Eric,’ he called softly, keep Berthe firmly in the corner of his eye. ‘It is not the way of dwarves to take our weapons into homes where we are visitors. It would be considered quite rude among my people. Perhaps you could take my sword and place it by the door for me.’

The door, of course, was not more than ten paces away and Thorin could easily have placed his sword there himself. The sudden light in the boys’ eyes, however, was worth the fairly obvious move. Eric approached with an almost reverential manner and held Thorin’s sword with all the care that others would an heirloom glass vase.

‘Oh,’ Legolas’ voice suddenly came from behind Thorin. ‘How shameful to have to be reminded of my manners by another. Perhaps your youngest two would oblige me, Mistress Draper?’

Even as he spoke Legolas was removing the small arsenal he seemed to carry with him. The elf had nearly as many weapons as Fíli, Thorin thought as he watched. The younger boys were practically agog and they rushed forward when Legolas held his bow, quiver, sword and daggers out. In the end Eric had to come and retrieve the sword, which would have been too heavy for the younger two.

‘Carefully, lads,’ Thorin warned in an undertone after Mistress Draper had stormed into the parlour. ‘Those are sharp and Mistress Halma will not be trying to reattach fingers if you cut them off. You can look at them but if I find any of you have pulled the blades from their scabbards, the culprit and I will have words.’

The boys all gave their solemn assurances that they would only look and then scarpered away to examine their prizes in earnest. As Thorin and Legolas turned to finally enter the parlour, Legolas gave a nearly inaudible chuckle.

‘You, Thorin Oakenshield, are a soft touch!’

‘Hush,’ Thorin responded in the same quiet tone. ‘Tell my nephews and I will never get a moment of peace again.’

‘As if they do not already know,’ Legolas scoffed, before turning his face into a mask of attentiveness as Varr began to speak.

‘The Master has not been happy with you these last few days, Bard,’ Varr informed him.

‘The Master has not been happy with me these last fifteen years,’ Bard replied with some gravity. ‘Not since he started seeing enemies in every man who cares for the lot of our people.’

‘Perhaps if you stopped complaining about the state that the poor have got themselves into…’ Berthe said, trailing off at a stern look from her husband.

‘Poor or rich, they are people of our town, Berthe,’ he scolded in the tone of one who has done so many times before. ‘It is not Bard who is in the wrong in this.’

‘Thank you, Master Varr,’ Bard said. ‘Unfortunately I fear I am about to make myself even less popular than I already am.’

‘Which would have a great deal to do, I imagine, with the Prince who is sitting in this room,’ Varr said blandly, giving nothing away.

Thorin decided it was time he added to the conversation. If there was a responsibility here it was his. Legolas was there as an envoy of his father but it was not fair that he should have to explain their plans to every person they met.

‘It would,’ Thorin said quietly, trying to exude as much gravity as he could, ‘but it would have more to do with my presence than that of Prince Legolas, who comes here as a friend of my people as much as a representative of his own.’

‘That would not surprise me,’ Varr replied. ‘The appearance of dwarves in Lake-town after so long will raise many eyebrows. Your people do not visit these parts, Master Dwarf.’

‘Not since before you were alive to remember,’ Thorin agreed. ‘I would like to change that if I can. For that, however, Master Bard believes that I will need your help.’

‘Who _are_ you?’ Mistress Draper burst out, clearly beyond the ability to restrain her curiosity. Her husband was displeased but was doing his best not to show it before their guests. Theirs was a marriage of convenience, Thorin suspected, and the years did not appear to be endearing Berthe to her husband.

‘I am Thorin,’ he said simply, ‘son of Thrain, son of Thror. Should our plans go well, I may soon be able to call myself King under the Mountain.’

Thankfully for all present, Berthe appeared to have been struck dumb once again. Varr, on the other hand, was giving Thorin a hard, assessing look that had Thorin feeling uneasy. If Bard and Halma were wrong all of his plans could start to go wrong quickly.

‘What is it you would need of the Men of Lake-town, King under the Mountain?’ Varr asked in a forbidding tone. ‘If you hope for an army to slay the dragon you will be disappointed. We are not warriors in this town.’

That, Thorin thought worriedly, would have to change soon enough. There was an army of orcs coming and, even if Elrond’s forces joined them, they would need every man of Lake-town to fight for their home. It was a problem for another day, however. There was only so much anyone could do about the future now.

‘Nor would I expect you to be,’ Thorin hurried to assure Varr, well aware of the irony. ‘What I wish from Lake-town is not so much aid as peace of mind. I would not like to enter the Mountain and risk awakening Smaug when he could so easily turn upon your town. I had hoped that Lake-town would accept the sanctuary that King Thranduil is willing to offer so that your people, if not your homes, would be safe.’

Varr Draper was not a man to come to hasty judgements. Like Halma, he made it apparent that he was going to take some moments to think Thorin’s words over. Berthe suddenly came alive but her focus was not inward. Instead she made an imperious summoning gesture in Halma’s direction. Halma showed a patience that greatly impressed Thorin and simply moved over to stand near Berthe, who immediately began whispering furiously at her.

Several seconds passed and, when it became apparent that Mistress Draper was not going to allow Halma to sit, Legolas rose from his chair and carried Halma’s own over to her. He let it drop with a rather pointed clatter, unfortunately at the exact moment that Varr opened his mouth to speak. The man’s first words were drowned out by the noise and Legolas gave him an apologetic look. Varr waved it away and waited until Legolas had retaken his seat to speak once more.

‘If Bard is here then I am sure you have already discussed the dangers of an attempt to enter the Mountain,’ Varr stated firmly.

‘We have,’ Thorin said, not quite able to keep his voice neutral, ‘Master Bard has received the greatest assurance I can provide that I will take care once my Company reaches Erebor.’

‘Not an assurance that you were happy about, clearly,’ Varr said, voice growing more suspicious. ‘You can see, I am sure, how your apparent concern for our safety seems to conflict with your obvious reluctance to assure us of your good intentions.’

Thorin waited a moment or two to see if Bard would offer any assurances of his own but was unsurprised when he did not. It did, however, mean that Thorin was not as patient as he might have been when he responded to Varr’s accusation.

‘I am sure that _you_ can understand, Master Draper,’ Thorin said without bothering to hide his anger, ‘how a person can be reluctant to place the life of one they love in the hands of another simply to offer reassurance that they do not intend to risk lives with their actions!’

In the tense silence that followed Thorin realised that Halma and Berthe had stopped talking and that they were, in fact, listening to the conversation taking place. For a moment Thorin thought that no one was going to say anything at all. Then Halma’s face darkened and she looked straight at Bard with fire in her eyes.

‘I think,’ she said firmly, ‘that you had best explain that to me Bard. I have a feeling that if King Thorin does so I will end up extremely cross with you.’

If ever a man had looked eager to have the floor swallow him whole it was Bard in that instant. Everyone in the room was clearly waiting for him to answer but Thorin would have been surprised if the man was thinking about anything but Halma’s reaction. Finally, Bard took hold of his courage and began his explanation.

‘I was concerned that Master Oakenshield might make promises that he could not keep. He and King Thranduil asked for my presence in Mirkwood because they wished me to convince the townsfolk to leave so that Master Oakenshield and his Company could enter the Mountain and try to kill the dragon. They also wished for any of the black arrows that my family might have kept, which is why they asked for me specifically. When they told me of their plan I did not wish to help them, for I felt that they had much to gain and we had much to lose. It would be very easy for them to go inside the Mountain and drive Smaug out. Lake-town might well burn in Smaug’s fire while the dwarves were perfectly safe. Master Oakenshield’s nephew offered himself as surety and I have accepted his offer so that we might have some reassurance that the dwarves will not forget their promises once the gold is theirs once more.’

Halma looked at Bard as if she had never seen him before in her life. Bard was clearly uncomfortable with that look but he held up better than Thorin might have done in these circumstances. Much as he would deny it, any hint of true displeasure from Dís generally had Thorin capitulating to her demands very quickly.

‘If I did not know better, I would not believe you to be the boy I have loved all these years,’ Halma told Bard with palpable disappointment. ‘You, who would fight tooth and claw to protect anyone in this town, to take someone else’s loved one hostage,’ she shook her head slowly, ‘I cannot believe it.’

‘It seems a perfectly logical solution to me,’ Berthe said with great self-confidence. ‘There is a lot of gold in that mountain, why should we not make sure we get our share of it, especially if our homes are likely to be burnt to the ground. There is much of value in my home. I do not intend to lose all of it just so a group of dwarves can have their draughty mountain back.’

This time, Thorin really did pity Bard. The man appeared downright nauseous as he listened to this stream of selfish spite. Coupled with Halma’s expression of extreme disappointment, Bard must have been feeling truly miserable.

‘I can only apologise for my wife,’ Varr said when Berthe paused for breath. ‘I was not aware of how rude she was willing to be to our guests or else I would not have allowed her to attend such a meeting. As it is, I will now tell you, Berthe, that you are to leave and return to your room. I will join you once my conversation here is done.’

‘I beg your pardon,’ Berthe said, visibly uncomprehending. ‘You cannot just send me away like one of the children! It is my family who paid for this house, if I wish to stay you cannot remove me!’

‘Oh, I think I can,’ Varr told her, finally seeming to lose the dutiful patience he had shown until then. ‘Quite apart from the fact that you are doing possibly irreparable damage to relations with the two nearest kingdoms to our town, the money that you are so fond of reminding me of was repaid long ago and more besides. You would be best to restrain your self-importance, Berthe, or I will send you back to your father. Let us see if a man heavily in debt to every dice-player in Lake-town can afford to keep you in the style to which you have become accustomed!’

Thorin wondered if he could escape through the window without anyone noticing. It was bad enough being at the centre of so many arguments since they had arrived at the Woodland Realm. To be witness to a marital dispute of this sort was far worse. He could hardly pretend he had not heard, as small as the room was. On the other hand, pretending not to hear was the only polite thing to do. Certainly no dwarven couple would have aired their disagreements so publicly. Hands fiddling with his ring yet again, Thorin turned desperately to Legolas and saw that he also appeared to wish he was anywhere else.

‘Well,’ Legolas said when he saw Thorin was looking at him, ‘this is awkward.’

‘Yes,’ Thorin agreed fervently. ‘What do we do?’

‘I don’t know!’ Legolas whispered with great feeling. ‘I have never been in the middle of such an argument before. Can we not just leave?’

‘I do not think that would get us much further with our plan, do you?’ Thorin asked reluctantly. ‘We will have to stay.’

Their conversation was interrupted by chuckling from the seat where Bard had happily found himself forgotten. Both Thorin and Legolas turned to glare ferociously at Bard, disgusted at this lack of concern for the awkwardness of the situation.

‘Neither of you have ever been married, have you?’ Bard asked, irritatingly amused for someone who should have been prostrate with guilt and regret by now.

‘I do not see what that has to do with… this,’ Legolas said sharply, waving a hand in the direction of their hosts. Berthe’s voice was approaching an eagle-like screech while her husband continued to stand firm in the face of her hysterical protestations that he was a brute and she would see him punished for such insulting behaviour.

‘It has everything to do with it,’ Bard said smugly. All pity Thorin had felt for him was completely destroyed. The man could choke on his own arrogance for all Thorin cared. ‘Married couples argue, it is not the end of the world.’

‘Perhaps not between the couple,’ Legolas told him. ‘I, on the other hand, have no interest in being a witness to their arguments.’

‘Then your wish is about to be granted,’ Bard responded, gesturing to the door that Berthe was storming through. Some moments later they heard the front door slam dramatically as she exited the house as well.

«««

Varr sighed with deep weariness. The man seemed drained and twenty years older than he had when they had arrived.

‘My apologies yet again, gentlemen, Mistress Halma,’ he said tiredly. ‘That has been coming for some time but I am saddened that there had to be witnesses, nevertheless.’

Legolas gave Bard a triumphant look which said quite clearly, “See, I told you we should not have seen it.” Bard ignored him.

‘I am sorry that our presence drove you to such an argument, Master Draper,’ Thorin found the sense to say. ‘I had not realised how strongly your wife would feel about the subject.’

‘It had far less to do with you than it might appear, Your Majesty,’ Varr told them, ‘I would not have you concern yourselves with it.’

‘I am sorry, Varr,’ Halma stated with concern clear in her voice, ‘but we must think on it at least a little. Quite apart from the fact that I had hoped for Berthe’s aid in convincing the town to move, she now has a fair amount of information and we do not know what she will do with it.’

Thorin felt himself wince at the thought. So much for his plans to avoid the Master’s involvement until after the townsfolk had agreed to leave. If Berthe was going to try and cause trouble (and Mahal knew that was likely given the temper she was in when she left) then she would know exactly where to go.

‘In that case we had best move quickly,’ Varr said, all trace of the diffident, reserved man suddenly gone. In its place was a decisive leader and Halma appeared both surprised and pleased by the change. Varr walked to the door and called for his eldest, who came running.

‘Eric, I need you and your brothers to do something for me and it’s very important,’ Varr told him quickly.

‘Yes, Da,’ Eric agreed easily, clearly eager to be involved.

‘Da,’ said a small voice and Thorin saw the Draper’s youngest standing behind his brother, ‘is Mother coming back?’

Varr’s face softened and he held his arms out, picking his son up and holding him close. The boy’s arm wound around Varr’s neck tightly and he buried his face in Varr’s neck.

‘I don’t know, Alnir,’ Varr said gently. ‘We will just have to wait and see, as always.’

This had happened before then, Thorin thought. Poor lads, the uncertainty must be an awful feeling for them.

‘I don’t _want_ her to come back,’ the middle lad said forcefully. ‘All she ever does is shout at us.’

Varr’s hand came to rest upon his son’s head and the lad’s brave facade crumbled as he leaned into his father’s side.

‘We will deal with it as it comes, Mati,’ Varr told him. ‘For now we have to be brave and help Mistress Halma, Prince Legolas and King Thorin.’

‘My Company and I are on a quest to try and kill the dragon which lives in the Mountain,’ Thorin added, hoping the idea would distract the boys for a little while. ‘Your father is going to help us keep the people of Lake-town safe and for that we need your help as well.’

‘What do you need us to do?’ Eric asked, obviously taken by the idea of slaying a dragon.

‘I need,’ Varr told him very seriously, ‘for you to gather as many people as you can to come to the town square this afternoon. Tell them that we have visiting royalty who need to speak to all of our people at once. Pass the message to everyone you meet and make it clear that they should pass it on as well.’

‘Is this a good idea, Master Varr?’ Bard questioned, speaking for the first time in some while. As he did so he shot wary glances at Halma, aware that he was still very much in disgrace. ‘The Master will find out about any meeting quickly enough and he will be sure to try to put a stop to anything that is being suggested, no matter how good an idea it is.’

‘Which is why we need everyone in one place,’ Varr explained to him. ‘If he is to try and turn people against us it will be using rumour and whispers. Those are his favourite tactics because they do not involve him at all. If there are any bad repercussions he can claim he had nothing to do with them. I want him in front of our people when we explain our reasons to them. Then, when he inevitably argues against us, whatever he says will be clearly contrasted with our care for the safety of our people.’

Thorin looked at Varr with new respect. He had not been particularly impressed by the man that Halma had described to him, nor by the man who had married a woman whose tongue was a great deal sharper than her wits. This man, however, who loved his sons deeply and was able to organise a small rebellion at a moment’s notice, could earn Thorin’s respect.

‘We’ll go now, Da,’ Eric assured his father, full of pride at the responsibility he had been given. Mati followed him immediately but Alnir showed no signs of moving from his place. A silent communication seemed to pass between father and eldest son, then Eric turned and ushered Mati out of the door with him. Varr kissed the top of his youngest’s head before looking to Thorin and Legolas again.

‘The boys will get as many as they can moving and this is a small town, rumours move quickly,’ Varr informed them. ‘We will need to decide exactly what we are going to say though. If we are to do this properly we had best make sure we are not caught unawares.’

Before they went any further, however, there was something Thorin wanted to know.

‘Are you with us or against us in this, Master Bard?’ he asked the man plainly. ‘For if you are against us that is something that _I_ would like to know before I am stood before a meeting of the townsfolk arguing my case.’

‘Oh, I think I would like to know that as well,’ Halma added, remembering her earlier anger now that events had paused for a time. ‘In fact, the only thing I would like to know more is _what you were thinking_ when you asked King Thorin to place his nephew’s life as payment for our aid!’

‘Halma,’ Bard said hopelessly, not as the start of an explanation but as a plea for understanding.

‘An explanation, Bard,’ she said, holding firm.

‘I told you why,’ he said, some spark of anger igniting. ‘If Master Oakenshield wishes to risk waking the dragon then I want to be sure that he is not going to set it loose upon the world while he hides in his Mountain with his gold. We all know the story of the dragon’s coming. You know what Thror’s response to Girion’s concern was.’

‘So I do,’ Halma said. ‘He told Girion that Dale could have Erebor’s trade or it could not and the more of Thror’s time Girion wasted in pleading for lower tithes, the more likely it was that he would take his trade elsewhere and do his best to ruin Dale into the bargain. Are we to be as bad as Thror then? To demand a price that no one should have to pay for help?’

Thorin brought his hand up and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling an ache begin in his neck and shoulders as every muscle tensed. How much had he been kept unaware of when his grandfather ruled Erebor? Certainly he had never heard that wording from his father or grandfather’s mouths. He had been told that Dale had wished the tithe abolished and had tried to worm their way out of paying so that they would not be tied to Erebor as closely as in previous years. Of course, he had not believed all of that, but he had not imagined the truth was quite so bad.

‘It is not as if I have demanded the boy’s head in return for a black arrow!’ Bard exclaimed with irritation apparent. ‘If no damage is done through their return to the Mountain, no harm will to Thorin’s nephew.’

‘Fíli. His name is Fíli,’ Thorin heard himself snap, a strange echo telling him that he had heard similar words spoken before.

‘I am aware of his name,’ Bard snapped back.

‘Then use it,’ Thorin snarled. ‘Fíli is not a thing, he is a person. If you would claim his pain as surety then you can at least give him the dignity of his name.’

‘I have just said that I will do no great harm to him if none is done to Lake-town,’ Bard argued.

‘And how am I to ensure that?’ Thorin asked, beyond mere aggravation and nearing the point where a haze seemed to fall over his vision. ‘What am I to do Bard? How do you kill a dragon without causing any harm to anyone at all? For Mahal’s sake, I am likely to lose Kíli to the dragon when I take him with me as it is, let alone Bilbo who must enter Erebor itself. Smaug cannot be killed without some risk!’

‘Then do not kill him!’ Bard shouted. ‘Leave him where he is.’

‘But it’s their home,’ said a young voice, shockingly quiet after the angry voices of before.

‘Alnir,’ Varr said warningly, though his tone stayed gentle enough.

‘Isn’t it?’ Alnir said. ‘We get to be at home, why can’t the dwarves go home?’

‘The dragon is dangerous, Alnir,’ Bard said softly, slightly ashamed that he had forgotten the boy was there once he lost his temper.

‘Yes, that’s why the dwarves are going to kill it,’ Alnir explained to him seriously. ‘That’s what heroes do; they kill the dangerous things and make it safe for everyone else.’

‘I don’t think many people would class my Company as heroes, lad,’ Thorin told him, reaching up to ruffle the boy’s hair. Out of the mouths of babes much truth was spoken. The dragon was dangerous so they had to kill it to make people safe. Such a simple way of explaining what Thorin had been trying to get across to people for months.

‘People are stupid,’ Alnir said with all the indignation of the young. ‘You have a quest and an evil beast to kill and weapons made by elves and dwarves. You’re heroes, just like in the stories.’

‘I had best not introduce this one to my Company,’ Thorin told Varr. ‘They will steal him and I’m not sure I would be able to convince them to return him.’

‘He is quite something, isn’t he?’ Varr said with great parental fondness.

Bard had said nothing, while Halma stood regarding him with an expression which clearly said, “well, what do you say to that?” When Bard spoke next his voice was more neutral than Thorin had ever heard it.

‘The deal has been made now and I will not undo it,’ Bard announced. Thorin had not really expected that he would but he could admit to a deep disappointment anyway. One less hammer hanging over his head would be a wonderful feeling right now. ‘The terms have been set and I do not think them unreasonable. The punishment has been set out so that it is matched to the damage done. I will, however,’ he finished heavily, ‘give my word to Master Thorin that I will not enact those terms unless I feel _great_ harm has been done. Alnir is right, it is your home and it is not my place to prevent you from returning to it.’

This last he spoke whilst looking directly at Thorin for the first time since Thorin had punched him in Thranduil’s Halls. As for Thorin – oh, he _ached_ to ask Bard how much his word should mean to Thorin when Bard had refused to accept Thorin’s word. In truth, he nearly said it and had to literally bite his tongue until he tasted blood to stop himself. The silence dragged out as he warred with himself. As with almost all of these temptations, it was the thought of his nephews that helped him to resist. Best to accept any promise that would keep Fíli well than to vent his anger at Bard.

‘I will do all I can,’ Thorin said instead, ‘to ensure that great harm is not done. As I would have done regardless,’ he could not resist adding.

‘Then we are in a better position than we were this morning,’ Legolas broke in then, ‘in one respect at least. Unfortunately we still have a town meeting to attend and we are no closer to a plan than we were earlier.’

‘Back into the parlour, all of you,’ Halma said bossily. ‘Standing in the hallway is not the best place to make a plan.’

Without a word of protest, all of the men followed her lead and back inside they went.

«««

When they reached the town square later that day, the whole space was full of people. The rest of the town seemed nearly deserted and Thorin was impressed with Eric and Mati’s efforts. They must have spent most of the day running from place to place to gather so many people so quickly.

The boys themselves joined Thorin’s party just as they were approaching the square, panting heavily as they came to a halt near their father.

‘We did it, Da,’ Eric told him proudly. ‘We went to all of the taverns and to where the women wash at the lake and to all the shops we came across.’

‘You have done very well, indeed,’ Varr assured him. ‘Thank you, boys.’

‘When we reach my home,’ Legolas said to Eric and Mati, ‘I will take you to the training rooms and we will see which weapons you would like to learn. Anyone who can run so tirelessly all afternoon has the stamina it will take to learn to fight.’

If the boys had glowed under their father’s gratitude, they were nearly incandescent under Legolas’s praise and promise. Alnir peeked out from his father’s neck, drawn by the promise of a treat he might miss out on.

‘You as well, henig,’ Legolas promised him. ‘For you have also been a warrior this day, if in a different fashion.’

Alnir beamed at Legolas and reached his arms out, leaning away from his father’s body for the first time in hours. Thorin had admired Varr’s own stamina, in fact, for he still had memories of the way his arms used to ache after holding the boys for long periods – and that was with arms used to hammering metal all day. Legolas scooped Alnir up and set the boy on his hip, slightly unused to such a pose, if Thorin guessed correctly, but working out the best hold quickly. Once settled, Alnir’s head disappeared once more, this time into the crook of Legolas’ neck instead.

At some point in this brief exchange their presence had been noticed by those at the edge of the crowd. Rather than the shouted questions and clamouring that Thorin had expected, the crowd parted in eerie silence to allow them to pass. Moving forward, the party saw part of the reason for that silence in the centre of the square.

The Master was not a stupid man by any means. He sat on a dais which had been hastily erected by his minions, upon a chair which, to those who had not grown up in the great kingdoms of legend, would seem like a throne. The chair was of a dark wood with gold leaf picking out the details of the carvings and the Master too was adorned with gold. In comparison, Thorin’s travel clothes and heavy coat would seem plain and dull. Even Legolas had dressed more for travel than for a public spectacle.

‘Son of a…,’ Bard muttered before cutting off sharply as Halma elbowed him firmly.

‘You are the children of great Lords and Kings,’ she murmured to them under her breath. ‘Let him drape himself with all the gold in Lake-town, it will make him no better than he is. Hold your heads up and get this job done.’

Good advice for almost any occasion, Thorin decided. It was possible that he had spent too much time of late appeasing others and trying to appear more approachable than he had been in his former life. Now was the time to remember all the training he had been given in years gone by. If all went well he would soon be a king in deed as well as name. Time to act like one.

‘It is good of you to await us, Master,’ Thorin called as he stepped forward, Legolas and Bard keeping pace with him on either side. ‘Though if we had known that you would be so gracious we would not have kept you waiting so long.’

The Master fumbled for words for a second, not having expected this approach. It was these usurpers who ought to have come as petitioners wishing for his favour. Certainly he had not intended it to seem that he had been anticipating their arrival.

‘You would not have had to worry, Master Thorin, if you had done as is expected and come to see me as soon as you arrived in Lake-town,’ he retorted.

‘Do you greet every traveller who enters the town?’ Thorin queried, enjoying the ability to answer as he wished for a change. This man would oppose his plans no matter what Thorin said and so he could speak as he chose, within reason. It was refreshing. ‘That must keep you busy indeed.’

There was a certain amount of sniggering from the crowd at this point and the Master’s eyes darted to those stood about before he replied.

‘Of course not,’ he said, making an effort to appear as benevolent as possible, ‘but I would certainly make time for such noble guests as I am told you are.’

‘We would not think of putting you to the trouble, Master of Lake-town,’ Legolas contributed. ‘We are visitors like any other and need no special attentions.’

‘Does your father not greet royal visitors to his kingdom, Prince Legolas?’ the Master replied. ‘Does he allow them to roam his realm at will? I did not realise Mirkwood was so free in its manners!’

‘ _The Woodland Realm_ ,’ Legolas responded pointedly, neatly sidestepping a precise answer ‘has nothing to fear from visitors.’

‘Nor does Lake-town,’ the Master hastened to counter. ‘Yet, I am told that you came with information that all my people need to know. The easiest way to have accomplished that was surely to come through me.’

‘Perhaps,’ Legolas said. ‘Yet here we are and it would seem that most of your people are present to hear our request. We are lucky indeed, are we not?’

Experience apparently counted for a great deal when it came to diplomatic fencing, Thorin thought. No one would ever guess that this was the Prince who blithely ignored most of the social protocol befitting his station when at home.

The Master had found himself backed into a corner somewhat. All he could do now, without re-treading previous ground, was invite them to explain why they had come. Which was exactly what they wanted to do. Even so, he debated demanding to know why they had been sending whispers and messages throughout his town and consorting with midwives and drapers of all people, rather than the proper authorities. Looking at those gathered, he thought better of it. Commoners could get so uppity when they were reminded of their place in society by their betters.

He had not, unfortunately, accounted fully for Mistress Draper.

‘Lucky indeed,’ she pronounced in a carrying tone, ‘to have been able to use my children to do your dirty work after forcing me out of my own home!’

If she had been trying for sympathy from the crowd, she was to be disappointed. Mistress Draper was well known and ill-liked in Lake-town. Several neighbours had seen her storm dramatically out of the house and her father’s servants (those he had managed to retain) knew that Mistress Draper had arrived shrieking with fury about remaining with her father until “that fool Varr comes and begs me to return on bended knee”.

‘Do not be absurd, Berthe,’ Varr’s voice cracked like a whip across the square. He, too, had pitched his voice so that his words would carry. ‘You left because I reprimanded you for your extreme rudeness to our guests, not because they forced you out. That is no matter for such a gathering as this. Let us deal with our own affairs on our own time.’

‘A very good idea,’ the Master chipped in quickly. ‘No one wishes to intrude upon familial matters such as this.’

‘I would,’ some joker shouted from the back of the crowd.

‘All here know how much you like to “intrude upon familial matters”, Cane,’ Halma responded loudly. ‘You’d do well to mind your own a little better.’

This made no sense at all to Thorin but it clearly did to the crowd, for there followed a loud whooping and calls of ‘That’s you told, Cane,’ from various places. Thorin waited a moment for the laughter to subside before he spoke without awaiting the Master’s permission.

‘All of you will know that I asked Master Draper’s boys to invite you here,’ Thorin called. ‘I had a request to make of your people and I believed that you deserved the right to decide for yourselves whether to accept it.’

A murmur of approval rippled through the square and Thorin saw one or two heads nod at his words.

‘I am Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror,’ Thorin announced next, forced to pause again immediately while chatter and cries of surprise broke out from every corner. The Master took the opportunity to nod knowingly, making it clear that he had already been privy to this information. Before Thorin could continue, the Master raised his voice above the dying whispers.

‘What business has the grandson of the Mad King of Erebor with the people of Lake-town?’ he asked sarcastically. ‘We remember well the wrath that the dwarves brought upon our people.’

While Thorin was not happy when this statement was also met with mutters of agreement, he was not surprised. Bard had already broken the news about his grandfather’s reputation in Lake-town to him.

‘Not so well as I do,’ Thorin replied solemnly, looking round at those nearby and ignoring the Master as much as possible. ‘For your people this is a distant memory. I lost dear friends the day that Smaug came to Erebor, as well as a beloved home. Those friends and that home are why I stand before you now.’

‘Oh, of course,’ the Master sneered. ‘The dwarf has come for his gold and would hide his aims under pretty words.’

‘Let King Thorin speak,’ someone yelled from Thorin’s left and the cry was taken up by others in different places.

‘Let him speak!’

‘Yes, let us hear what he has to say!’

The Master held up a hand like a kindly parent asking for silence. Thorin was close enough, from his position at the base of the dais, to see the way that a muscle by the man’s eye twitched with anger, but doubtless no sign could be seen by those standing around.

‘Very well, very well,’ the Master said clearly. ‘Speak as you will, Master Dwarf.’ Thorin was not blind to the deliberate exclusion of his title and name.

‘I have come to try and kill the dragon and take back my home,’ Thorin called. ‘I do not deny it, nor have I hidden it at any point. I asked Master Bard to come to the Woodland Realm and join my conference with King Thranduil, so that I might ask him if any of the black arrows that Girion had once used against Smaug remained.’

‘The black arrows with which Girion _failed to kill Smaug_ ,’ the Master uttered pointedly, looking around at the crowd. ‘Had Master Bard’s ancestor had a true aim Dale might have survived the dragon’s attack.’

‘It is easy to lay blame upon those who no longer live,’ Legolas responded in the ringing voice he had learned from his father, ‘and easier still to make judgements upon events which happened long before you were born. I, too, saw the dragon come to Erebor. Girion could have done no more than he did and he did a great deal more than most. To give your life to try to save your people is not an end worthy of scorn!’

Now the tide of public feeling turned back towards Thorin’s party, he judged. Legolas certainly made quite the picture, old eyes in an eternally young face, with a child of Men upon his hip. No doubt he had won many hearts in the crowd simply by virtue of his appearance.

‘The events of the past I cannot change,’ Thorin told the crowd, once again nearly choking on the irony of his words and the bitterness of what he must say next. ‘I am not here to argue who should be blamed for the fact of Smaug’s presence. Most of the fault lay with my grandfather and I readily admit it. I would look now to the future.’

‘Then by all means,’ the Master stated generously, ‘tell us what it is you, King Thranduil and Master Bard decided about the fate of our town at your secret conference.’

These words made the crowd uneasy. They shifted slightly, the movement causing the front of the gathering to undulate somewhat, like a snake prodded with a stick. Hopefully they would not turn and strike now that they had been reminded of Bard’s earlier absence.

‘We decided very little,’ Bard proclaimed, stepping forward to take hold of the crowd’s attention. ‘I was not there to make decisions for others, only for myself and my family. King Thorin wished for my agreement to give him the black arrow, which he gained. He also wished to ask for my help in putting a proposal to you, which he also gained. That was all.’

‘It was,’ Thorin forced himself to say, ‘and it was Master Bard who pointed out that the fairest thing to do was to ask the townsfolk themselves if they would grant my request. It was their lives, he told me, which would be impacted most and it would not be at all just to expect another to make so great a decision for them.’

For a moment, Bard’s eyes fixed on Thorin with a killing glare. Thorin realised that his words would doubtless not endear Bard to the Master at all and that he had likely just made the man’s life much harder. Neither of them had expected the applause that broke out at that moment, coming first of all from an old, old man stood very near to Thorin and his party.

‘It’s about time,’ the man said, his words easily heard in the quiet despite their slight trembling, ‘that someone in this town remembered that we can make decisions for ourselves, rather than having to be told what to do every day.’

The old man’s applause spread then, as his words were repeated and carried back to those too far away to hear. The Master’s anger was now more apparent but there was little he could say that would not seem churlish, particularly to a person so much older than he.

‘We still have not been told what it is that you would ask of Lake-town, Master Dwarf,’ the Master reminded the gathering under the guise of reminding Thorin. Thorin decided that there would not be a better time to give his invitation.

‘I would ask,’ he called loudly, making sure he would be heard, ‘that the people of Lake-town move, for a short time, to the Halls of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm. King Thranduil has offered his home as a sanctuary for your people, so that you need not risk being victims of the dragon if my Company cannot keep him contained within Erebor.’

A hush fell, broken at first by whispers and then by a huge clamour as all present began to discuss Thorin’s words. The Master immediately attempted to quell it, eventually aided by the unpleasant Alfrid and some members of the town guard who had been standing near to the dais. It took far longer than he might have liked but eventually the Master had his people’s attention once more.

‘My people,’ the Master said in a tone of ridicule, ‘this dwarf would have us leave our homes and our lives so that he can risk waking a dragon which has not been seen for years and years. Surely you will not agree to such a thing?’

At this, the old man from the front of the crowd snorted in disgust.

‘What would you know of dragons, lad?’ he asked derisively. ‘If the Elven King will offer me a chance to be elsewhere when Smaug leaves that Mountain, I will take it. Once was quite enough for my liking. I have no desire to see dragonfire again, no matter how young I might have been then.’

‘Master Nairn is right,’ a woman’s voice agreed. ‘If the dragon might come out then I’ll take my children somewhere safe. That is what Mistress Halma would advise, isn’t it?’

‘It is,’ Halma replied immediately. ‘I will be going with Prince Legolas and King Thorin to the Woodland Realm and I would advise all of you to follow suit. There is no point in endangering ourselves if we have another option.

A number of people in the crowd clearly agreed and a group of mothers with young children broke away from the mass of people, announcing that they were going to pack up their belongings for the trip.

‘Why should Master Thorin go into the Mountain at all?’ the Master shouted with a certain amount of desperation. ‘The dragon sleeps quietly, why risk waking him?’

The next time Thorin heard that argument, he decided, he was going to slam the head of the person who uttered it into the nearest hard surface. Unless it was a child or a woman, he had to qualify in his head and then felt ridiculous for doing so.

‘As a dear friend of mine explained recently,’ Thorin responded, ‘just because a creature has been asleep for some time does not mean that it will never wake up again. Smaug is a threat until he is dead.’

‘A convenient excuse for doing exactly as you wish,’ the Master said with a large amount of scorn in his voice.

‘A true comment,’ Varr stated, moving forward so he could be easily seen. ‘Everyone here knows that Smaug had not been seen for many years before he emerged sixty years ago. Eventually he will get hungry and come looking for food.’

The discussion became quite heated then and for the best part of ten minutes Thorin stood listening to the arguments thrown back and forth. Most of the crowd seemed to agree with Varr but a few of the disbelieving (and some of the Master’s cronies) were trying to turn opinion away from them. The discussion might have gone on forever if Legolas had not chosen that moment to make their closing speech.

‘Men and women of Lake-town,’ he called out, quickly getting their attention, ‘neither I nor my companions wish to force you to do something against your will. We have given you our request and our reasons and we leave the decision in your hands. The morning after next, I will set out to the Woodland Realm and will be met at the borders of the forest by members of my patrol. They will see any and all who wish to accept our offer safe to my father’s Halls. I hope to see all of you there for I would greatly regret seeing any of you come to harm when it could have been prevented.’

With that Legolas stepped back and the crowd began to disperse naturally, groups splitting off to return home or to gossip with their neighbours and come to a decision. They had done what they could, Thorin thought, the rest was up to the people of Lake-town.

Suddenly, the Master appeared before them, face set into a scowl of anger.

‘You will not get away with this, Bard,’ the Master hissed angrily. ‘I will not let you set yourself above my authority, no matter who your great-great-grandfather was.’

‘I want only to guard the people of this town,’ Bard responded, ‘as I have told you again and again. I have no interest in ruling Lake-town or anywhere else.’

That was unfortunate, Thorin thought to himself, for the man was going to end up ruling if Thorin and Thranduil had anything to say about it. Never mind, there was time yet to bring that up with Bard.

‘I am watching you,’ the Master snarled at Bard, before storming away with Alfrid at his heels. Bard simply shook his head as he watched the Master go.

««««««


	21. Precautions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Closing your eyes to problems will not make them go away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so very sorry for how long the chapters are taking recently. All of a sudden life got very busy but I am hoping it will not last much longer and I will have more writing time. Thank you for all of the comments and kudos and for your patience. Also, thank you to ISeeFire for her wonderful beta of this chapter :)

Chapter Twenty-One: Precautions

Two days later Thorin stood waiting anxiously with Legolas, Halma, Varr and Bard, hoping fervently that others would join them for the trek to Thranduil’s Halls. The sun was barely rising over the horizon but already Thorin could feel the jangle of nerves underneath his skin. He needed these people to move if he was to have any peace of mind about travelling to Erebor. In actuality if they did not go to Thranduil’s home Thorin might have to reconsider the whole plan to go to Erebor. To unthinkingly risk their lives was one thing but to risk them knowingly would plague his conscience as much as anything he had done in his previous life.

Shortly after dawn a small group walked through the gates of Laketown and headed for Thorin’s party. It was, he noted, largely made up of the mothers who had left the meeting early, accompanied for the most part by husbands who had clearly been told they were leaving and had decided not to argue. As they approached Thorin spotted at least one heavily pregnant woman among them and looked to Halma with concern.

‘She will be alright, won’t she? The pregnant lady. The trip will not harm her?’

Halma simply laughed at him for some seconds before replying.

‘Thorin,’ she said with much amusement, having finally been convinced to drop his title the night before, ‘these women are not the noblewomen you might be used to. They might not be paid for their work but they continue to toil up until the day the babe is born, most of them. That is the type of life they lead here. She’ll come to no harm from sitting in a cart for a few days, though I’m sure it will not be the most comfortable journey she’s ever had.’

‘It is difficult not to worry, Halma,’ Thorin told her softly, not wishing to be heard by the others. ‘My people wandered for many years and their life, too, was hard. We lost more than one babe in that time. For a people with so few women and children each loss was a terrible blow.’

Halma looked somewhat surprised, then regretful and saddened.

‘I am sorry, sweetling,’ she murmured, using her favourite endearment without seeming to mark it, ‘I had no idea. I promise you she will be fine. I will not be far from her anyway and I can spot the signs of trouble well after all these years.’

‘Thank you,’ Thorin responded, nodding his head slightly. Then he turned his attention to the next group of arrivals, not wishing to dwell on the conversation.

By early afternoon, which Legolas and Thorin had decided would give them the chance to gather as many people as they could while still camping for the night just outside the forest, they had been joined by nearly all the population of Lake-town. The Master and his sycophants were all present and accounted for despite their arguments against the venture. The desire to save their own skins was apparently a powerful incentive. Mistress Draper had arrived with an entourage of her father and his servants and had immediately made her way to Varr and the children. Though from the looks that she was shooting in Legolas’ direction, Thorin had a feeling that she was interested less in her family than in their new royal connections.

‘I will give Thranduil an extra share of the treasure if he is extremely rude to her,’ Thorin muttered to Legolas after watching the Elven Prince inch further and further away from the Drapers. Varr shot Legolas a look that clearly called him a traitor without any words spoken.

‘You will not need to give him anything,’ Legolas responded in an undertone. ‘The older he gets the less patience he has for the affectations of such as her. He will delight in being as rude to her as he can manage to be without insulting Varr or upsetting the children.’

‘I did not think that Thranduil saw that much of anyone outside of his own race,’ Thorin said with a note of query in his voice. Legolas snorted in response.

‘You are presuming that Mistress Draper does not have an elven equivalent,’ he said to Thorin. ‘I assure you that not all of our people are as gracious and fair-minded as Gandalf might have you think.’

There was enough force in Legolas’ tone to make Thorin curious.

‘Had much experience with them, have you?’ he asked meaningfully. Legolas barely repressed a shudder.

‘There is a particular elf among Lady Galadriel’s hand-maidens who would dearly love to become Princess of the Woodland Realm,’ Legolas informed Thorin. ‘That she makes no secret of her disgust for our “barbaric ways” or the “pretensions of that Silvan hoyden” does not seem to occur to her as an obstacle to such a union.’

‘Her seduction technique is to insult your people and your close friend?’ Thorin asked incredulously.

‘Exactly,’ Legolas responded. ‘My father informed me three days into her first visit to the Woodland Realm that he would burn the forest to the ground before he allowed her to be Princess of a single grove within it. I have never been so relieved in my life.’

‘At least that was one thing that I gained when we lost Erebor,’ Thorin commented wryly. ‘The heir to the throne of Durin might be quite the marital prize, no matter how young he be, but the Prince of a nomadic people or a colony on the brink of extinction is not someone ambitious women flock to.’

‘Then you can bless the luck that bought you a respite,’ Legolas told him with mischief in his voice, ‘when the vultures begin to flock once more when you have regained your throne.’

‘Oh… Mahal,’ Thorin substituted when he saw Varr’s children standing nearby, clearly hoping to flee to the relative safety that Legolas and Thorin provided once their mother’s back was turned, ‘I had not thought of that. Balin and I will need to have a word with the boys. The ways that were accepted easily enough in Ered Luin will find them bound for life once they are heirs in truth.’

To this Legolas’ response was simply to laugh until he could barely breathe.

«««

The next day the whole troupe of Esgaroth were met at the eaves of the forest by Tauriel and a large force of her warriors, ready to escort them to the caverns that would be their temporary home. Legolas, to whom Mistress Draper had turned her attentions when it became clear that Varr was not going to forgive all in an instant, hurried towards his friend with more haste than was truly becoming in one of his rank.

‘Tauriel,’ he cried, ‘it is good to see you!’

Tauriel was no fool. One eyebrow was raised in scepticism and her hand slipped to her sword as if sensing a threat.

‘We have been separated for less than a week,’ she told Legolas warily. ‘You have been gone four times that long and barely remarked my absence. What is happening?’

Safe in the knowledge that he could not be seen by those from Esgaroth, Legolas gave her the most piteous and pleading glance that he could muster. Switching to Sindarin he uttered a phrase that was a clear entreaty for help, even if Thorin did not understand the words. Tauriel’s expression was interesting however. For one brief moment there was a look almost of anger and then it was entirely replaced by amusement. Somehow, Thorin had the feeling that the latter was partly feigned. She called commands to the warriors with her and they moved to begin helping the people of Esgaroth prepare for the rest of the journey.

While a number of elves approached the elderly or infirm and took their belongings from them so that they might find walking less tiring, others moved to speak to those with young children and Thorin saw that they were offering to carry the little ones as far as they could. It was understood without being said that if there was a sign of danger then the elves would have to be free to fight. As Halma had volunteered Thorin, Legolas, Bard and Varr as child-porters when they left Esgaroth, Thorin remained where he was. His charge had returned briefly to her mother but would, if the previous day had been a good indication, return soon enough. The little girl was thrilled by the chance to have a dwarven king as her steed.

Tauriel, unlike her companions, moved not to those with young children or some infirmity but straight to a group of the wealthier women of Esgaroth. She was every inch the stern captain and Thorin approached the group quietly, not wanting to miss the entertainment that was sure to ensue.

‘… will have to go,’ Tauriel was saying extremely firmly. ‘They will slow us down and they are a burden we cannot afford should there be an attack.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ one of the women snapped, her low-cut, entirely impractical dress barely containing the bosom which heaved with outrage. ‘Do you have any idea how expensive all those clothes are, elf? I will not be leaving them behind.’

‘Exactly,’ another of her companions chimed in. ‘My mother’s best china is in that trunk. I will not simply leave it by the wayside!’

Ah, Thorin thought to himself, he had wondered when someone was going to break that news to the fine ladies of Esgaroth. Most of the refugees had had the sense to pack only that which they could carry on their backs, with the younger lads and lasses, like Varr’s Eric, helping to carry some extra food and necessities for those with large families who could not carry it themselves. Not everyone, unfortunately, had had so much foresight.

‘Then you may by all means bring them,’ Tauriel said, eyeing the triumphant expressions before her with open distaste, ‘and when you have carried them the best part of fifty miles and arrive safely at my lord’s Halls several days later than all the rest of us I am sure you will feel very accomplished.’

‘You insolent girl,’ Berthe Draper exclaimed as she joined the fray. ‘You will have your people carry them for us, of course. We are not servants.’

‘Nor are my people,’ Tauriel said flatly, eyes hard and cold as she gazed upon Mistress Draper, ‘and given that I am over five _hundred_ years old, Mistress, you might take care who you are calling a girl!’

Berthe spluttered angrily in response, momentarily unsure of what to say. Unfortunately it was not a state that lasted long.

‘Then our servants will carry them,’ she announced as if the matter were settled.

‘No, they will not,’ was Tauriel’s swift response. ‘I will not doom anyone to travel alone on these paths simply for the sake of a few pretty baubles that are not even theirs.’

‘How dare you!’ cried a dark-haired girl with wide eyes that made her seem permanently dazed and belied the shriek her voice could apparently reach when crossed. ‘Do you have any idea how expensive some of these items are?’

‘I do not know and even less do I care,’ Tauriel told her, now on the verge of losing her temper from what Thorin could see. ‘You will leave them or you will be left with them, Mistresses, those are your options. My people have far more important things to carry.’

‘Why can’t we just keep them in the carts?’ the dark-haired girl asked, as if Tauriel were the one being entirely unreasonable. ‘There are two carts coming anyway and they will slow us down as much as any of our belongings.’

Finally, it appeared, one of the group proved to have common sense. A quiet looking girl, barely out of her teens from her appearance, intervened.

‘Tula, the people in those carts are dreadfully ill, all except Mistress Fletcher who is nearly ready to have her babe. Nothing we have with us is so important as that.’

‘So _you_ say,’ the woman who had begun the whole discussion retorted. ‘I will have you know my lace came from Minas Tirith! It is worth far more than the life of some petty drunkard who made himself too poor to afford a physician.’

For one glorious moment Thorin thought that Tauriel was going to slap the woman straight across her smug face. Then the Captain mastered herself and took a deep breath in preparation to speak. Feeling more than slightly guilty for his amusement at her predicament, Thorin decided to take pity upon her.

Several of the ladies’ husbands had been stood nearby, in a serious discussion with one of the elves. Thorin had no doubt that a number of them could be just as bad as their wives, if not worse. However he knew that at least two of them, men that Varr had introduced him to the day before, were entirely sensible.

Moving quickly he approached one of them, caught his attention and quickly explained the discussion. The man rolled his eyes in despair.

‘Valar above!’ Herburt muttered. ‘One of them will be my Etta. She’s perfectly sensible most of the time but she’s frightened out of her wits and not thinking straight. I nearly had to wrestle the drapes out of her hands when we were packing. I ought to have calmed her down and reminded her we didn’t need any of this before we started.’

Herburt cleared his throat loudly and all of the men stood nearby turned to him. Just as they did so a group of three women also hurried over.

‘Brother,’ one of them announced impatiently, ‘come and talk some sense and some manners into that feather-brained fool you married! She’ll not listen to me and I’ve never heard such rudeness as she’s offering to Captain Tauriel.’

‘Some of our ladies seem to a bit… overwrought,’ Herburt added in swift, diplomatic explanation, ‘at the thought of leaving certain items behind. Captain Tauriel has been attempting to reason with them.’

One of the men uttered an oath and immediately began moving towards Tauriel and her opponents. Herburt turned to follow him. A third man seemed ready to weigh in on the side of the women and was swiftly elbowed by the man next to him, his brother going by their appearance. Within seconds the two disparate groups had merged into one contentious mass.

Thorin was most intrigued by the discussion between Herburt and his lady, Etta, who turned out to be the second of the women who had spoken to Tauriel. Entirely by chance, he had ended up close to the couple and could hear their conversation even above the general hubbub.

‘Etta, you are being ridiculous, you know this!’ Herburt was saying calmly but firmly.

‘I can’t just leave them behind,’ Etta responded, near on the verge of tears. ‘Husband, they are important. Tomas can carry them….’

Herburt caught her chin in his hand and looked her straight in the eye, tone sharpening slightly.

‘Tomas can carry them,’ he repeated. ‘Tomas, whose wage you convinced me to raise five months ago when his youngest was born. You wish him to risk being harmed or killed in this forest to save your mother’s dishes. Etta, these are not the words of the woman I married.’

Etta’s face crumbled and she began to cry in harsh, unattractive sobs, nearly gasping for breath.

‘What if it’s all gone?’ she wailed, though not loudly. ‘They’re all I have of her, what if we never get them back?’

‘Oh Etta,’ Herburt said very gently, pulling her in to rest against his chest. At that point Thorin, now discomforted by his eavesdropping, turned away and moved back towards Halma and Legolas, who had rejoined each other in the meantime. Varr was valiantly doing battle with Berthe, finding a surprising ally in her father whose patience for “female hysterics” had apparently run out.

It was a vicious battle but, with the help of the more sensible residents of Esgaroth, it was a battle Tauriel won. They had wasted nearly an hour of valuable daylight and that realisation lessened Thorin’s amusement at what he had witnessed, but finally they were away and moving towards the safety of Thranduil’s Halls once more.

«««

Thankfully the rest of journey passed without incident. At one point one of Tauriel’s scouts returned looking slightly worried and disappeared again with three others from the patrol but Tauriel assured Thorin that it was nothing to be concerned about.

‘A pair of spiders left behind by their own after being wounded by something else. Irieth thought they might have been from a skirmish one of the patrols had while we were away. They will give my fighters little trouble.’

Other than that, the time passed remarkably easily, though Thorin was sure that some among the refugees would disagree with him. Thorin himself had had months of walking to harden his body and dwarves were naturally hardy to being with. The older (or softer) residents of Esgaroth suffered from the exertion, though the children at least were carried most of the way. Thorin had thanked Mahal more than once for dwarven sturdiness when his young passenger, Ginna, drummed her heels against his chest sharply or tugged firmly on his hair. Luckily her mother happened to see her doing so on the second day of travel and scolded her so firmly she left off thereafter.

Nevertheless, their arrival at Thranduil’s home was a great relief to all of those from Esgaroth, as well as for Thorin and the elves. One of the elves had gone ahead to warn Thranduil of their coming and the King and his court made an impressive sight at the entrance. Thorin’s Company had joined them, a less impressive sight Thorin had to admit but a welcome one nonetheless. Fíli and Kíli had at least made the attempt to look as regal as they could in the clothes they had with them.

As Thorin’s group approached two figures shot forward from amongst the Company and hurtled towards Bard, who caught them up in his arms.

‘Da!’ Tilda shouted joyfully and while Sigrid remained quiet she was clearly thrilled to have her father back as well. Bain was doing his best to seem unaffected by Bard’s return but gave in when Bard looked at him with an amused expression. He, too, joined the family reunion while most of those around looked on indulgently. Thranduil stepped forward once the girls had released Bard once more and addressed all those who had just arrived.

‘We are glad to see all of you here,’ he told them sincerely. ‘My people have been busy preparing emptier parts of our Halls to accommodate you and will shortly take you to your rooms. I will ask you to be patient with us to begin with, however. We must ensure that those with the greatest need are helped first but there will be enough room for all.’

When the Master seemed about to step forward and make some sort of pronouncement, nothing that Thorin would likely agree with, Legolas hastened to step into the breach.

‘You have all been very patient these last few days,’ he told those they had travelled with. ‘I am sure you are all tired but we will be as swift as we can. If my people have carried any of your belongings or your children, would you come forward now? We will see you settled first and then it will be easier to aid everyone else.’

There was a small amount of grumbling from the more irritating members of Esgaroth’s population but most of those who had caused so much trouble at the beginning had quietened during the journey, whether from thinking better of their attitude or from exhaustion Thorin could not say. In the end Thranduil’s steward, despite his shortcomings in diplomacy, proved to be exceptionally efficient when it came to organising a household. Little more than an hour had passed before all of the refugees had been rehomed, as a constant stream of elven servants moved to and from the Halls bearing small groups away each time.

During this time Thorin had rejoined the Company, receiving a slightly less enthusiastic greeting from his companions than Bard had from his family. Though Dwalin was kind enough to comment,

‘So you managed to convince them then? Good to know you aren’t entirely useless when it comes to dealing with Men.’

Thorin considered hitting him for a brief moment before deciding that he truly did not care enough to make the effort. There would be other times when Dwalin deserved it more.

‘No incidents while I was gone?’ he asked Balin, looking at Bilbo as well with the thought that the hobbit was more likely to be entirely honest about what had happened.

‘Strangely,’ Balin responded, ‘with you gone all was quiet.’

‘By which Balin means that everything has been fine, thank you Thorin,’ Bilbo added. ‘Thranduil assured us that he was not fond of the vase that got broken when the Company decided to train the day before last, so all was well.’

‘Va…?’ Thorin began to ask before thinking better of it. He truly did not want to know why the Company had come to be practising in a room with a vase or how the vase had met its untimely demise. Really he did not.

‘There will be enough room for everyone?’ Thorin asked Thranduil instead.

‘There will,’ Thranduil affirmed. ‘Your Company have been kind enough to share four rooms between them to free up more space and some of my own people will move in with other family members or friends for the time that the people of Esgaroth are here, so all will be well. A month or two is no great inconvenience to us.’

‘Bard’s three have been in with us,’ Bofur told Thorin happily, gesturing to Bifur and Bombur as well. ‘We are going to keep them, we’ve decided. I’m sure they’d love Erebor.’

‘Not so much as Bard would love putting an arrow through your eye,’ Balin interjected.

‘Pfft,’ Bofur dismissed. ‘The lasses would not let him do it!’

‘Remind me not to let any of you near Varr’s youngest,’ Thorin mumbled under his breath, then cursed when a number of the Company perked up, Fíli and Kíli among them.

‘No!’ Thorin said with absolute firmness. ‘Do not even think about it. I will not begin my rule of Erebor by waging a war against Men attempting to recover their stolen children. Dís would have my head on a pike.’

‘Eh, we could talk her round,’ Bofur said blithely, eyeing Thorin’s sister-sons as if weighing their usefulness as potential allies.

‘You could not talk _me_ round,’ Balin said and Bofur deflated. Thorin gave Balin a grateful look. That was one dispute he wanted no part in.

Thranduil had been chuckling with quiet glee throughout this conversation and Thorin shot him a baleful look.

‘Do not think you can get away without any trouble from the new arrivals,’ he warned the Elven King. ‘The Master is quite as bad as Tauriel painted him and some of his wealthier citizens are no better. Mistress Draper may even be worse and she is quite enamoured of the idea of having elven royalty among her connections.’

‘She cannot be that bad, surely,’ Thranduil said hopefully, sounding unconvinced by his own claim.

‘Legolas said she reminded him a great deal of one of Lady Galadriel’s hand-maidens,’ Thorin informed him. Thranduil closed his eyes and murmured what seemed to be a prayer to Eru for strength.

‘Those jewels had best be as wondrous as I remember, Thorin Oakenshield,’ Thranduil announced with mock severity. Now it was Thorin’s turn to laugh.

‘Oh, I am sure they will be,’ he responded, ‘and if they are not you can comfort yourself by thinking of the charitable nature of your offer to house these people.’

‘Wondrous, Thorin,’ was Thranduil’s response. ‘Entirely wondrous.’ Thorin simply smiled in response.

«««

The Company had been hard at work while Thorin was away and had managed to finagle some supplies from Thranduil’s household, so they were nearly ready to go. Thorin decided he would take a day and a night to rest and tidy up the last few loose ends and then they would set out in two days’ time. The first order of business was to talk to Fíli.

His sister-sons were easy enough to find. Fíli and Kíli had gravitated to Legolas and Tauriel when the two had returned. They were all in the training area used by Thranduil’s guards practising when Thorin went looking for them. Thorin caught Fíli’s eye when he arrived and Fíli excused himself quickly.

‘I will not keep you from them long,’ Thorin told him when he neared and Fíli chuckled in response.

‘They have been talking my ear off about archery for what feels like an eternity, Uncle, please take all the time you need.’

‘They have not converted you to the bow, then?’ Thorin asked as they walked together to the room Thorin was now sharing with Balin, Dwalin and Bilbo.

‘I prefer good, solid metal over wood and string, thank you,’ was Fíli’s response. They entered and sat down and Thorin turned the conversation to a more serious subject.

‘I will not belabour the point of your deal with Bard,’ Thorin told Fíli to begin. ‘That we have already spoken of enough.’ Fíli nodded his agreement but apparently still had something to say.

‘I know that you were not pleased, Uncle, but I do think it will be well in the end. I have spoken with Bard’s children much these last few days. The man they described is a better man than the one we have seen. I believe I will be safe enough here and Thranduil has assured me that he will put a stop to anything outrageous that might be suggested.’

‘Then I am comforted by Thranduil’s reassurance,’ Thorin responded. ‘I am also comforted by the good sense of some of those I have met in Esgaroth. Mistress Halma, the midwife, is not a woman to be trifled with and she was most displeased with Bard when she found out what he had done.’

‘Do they all know?’ Fíli said worriedly and Thorin could understand his concern. There was no knowing what some of the people of Esgaroth would consider an acceptable punishment and it would be more difficult for Thranduil to put a stop to the ideas of a mob than those of one man.

‘They do not, though it is possible that the Master has been told by Mistress Draper,’ Thorin had to admit. ‘Master Varr and Mistress Halma are the only other two who I am certain know and they are not the type to spread such a thing about. If there looks to be a problem then find Thranduil and ask him for assistance. I have faith in him, at least.’

‘I will,’ Fíli promised. ‘What else was it you needed to discuss with me, Uncle?’

‘There is something I wish you to try and do for me while we are away,’ Thorin told him seriously. ‘I believe there may be a problem coming which others might not anticipate…’

‘The orcs,’ Fíli said with an unexpected amount of certainty. ‘Kíli and I talked to the rest of the Company about it while you were in Esgaroth. Azog wasn’t with the pack that attacked us here and that means he might well be coming now. Especially if the way that the orcs reacted when their leader was killed is any indication.’

‘The way that they reacted?’ Thorin questioned, intrigued. He had been too caught up in his injury to truly register what had happened after the orcish leader’s death.

‘Yes,’ Fíli confirmed. ‘Once they saw he was dead every one of them panicked and tried to flee as if Sauron was behind them cracking a whip. Kíli and I thought it was odd and so we talked to some of the elves who went after them. The orcs did not flee towards Dol Guldur, even though that would be the most logical place for them to go. It is dark enough in that part of the forest for them to hide and lick their wounds. Instead they fled _away_ from that place. They feared to go back and the only reason we could come up with was because they feared to tell Azog what had happened. That means he would be angry about the leader’s death and _that_ means he is likely to come after us when he realises we caused the death.’

‘That is a lot of thinking the two of you were doing,’ Thorin commented, impressed that the boys had given something seemingly insignificant so much thought.

‘We are responsible for our people in your absence,’ Fili said with the air of solemnity he had been developing during the journey. ‘If another attack was possible the Company needed to be warned and so did Thranduil.’

‘You warned him then?’ Thorin asked.

‘We did,’ Fíli said, ‘and he agreed with our reasoning. Extra guards have been posted and he has called all of his people with any ability at fighting or healing to begin training on a daily basis. The Company joined them, which is why there was an incident with the vase.’

‘That is _very_ good then,’ Thorin said with some relief, ‘for it will make the task I am to give you easier.’

‘You would like me to make sure they are ready for battle should it come?’ Fíli queried, clearly thinking through the various possibilities.

‘Not so much the Elves as the Men,’ Thorin responded. ‘The Elves can handle themselves in a fight, as we have seen, but the Men of Esgaroth are not warriors by choice. If battle comes and they are caught in the middle…’

‘You think they will be,’ Fíli stated, looking closely at his uncle. ‘This is not just worry about Azog bringing another party of orcs. You are worried about an army or else the men would not be needed to fight!’

‘You are far more perceptive than you were when we left Ered Luin,’ Thorin informed his nephew. ‘You said then that you would become an heir I could be proud of and you were right.’ Fíli ducked his head and muttered something incomprehensible, clearly embarrassed as well as pleased by the praise. Thorin continued their discussion rather than make Fíli any more embarrassed than he was. ‘I do worry about an army. Gandalf believes that something foul lives in Dol Guldur and means to cause problems. I had rumours of such things coming to me in Ered Luin. If there is such foulness and Azog has aught to do with it then it may well come for us first.’

‘The Men will not be easy to convince,’ Fíli said quietly, mostly to himself. ‘They will see no need for battle, especially when we have gone to such lengths to ensure that they are safe from Smaug. Perhaps if I catch the attention of some of the younger lads first of all and then try to get the older ones involved after….’

‘That might well work,’ Thorin said, ‘though I do not believe that the older men will necessarily follow the younger. You might try working with Bard, Master Varr and a Master Nairn on this. Master Nairn is too old to fight himself but he is old enough to be well-respected by those with sense and he might be able to convince his people where a dwarf would not.’

‘I’ll start with Bard, Bain and the girls, as well as Master Varr and his boys if he will agree,’ Fíli said with determination.

‘The girls? Thorin asked curiously.

‘Yes,’ Fíli assured him, ‘they do not like the idea of being defenceless in case of trouble. No Dwarven woman would be caught out as long as there was a weapon to hand. Mum wields her bow nearly as well as Kíli but Sigrid and Tilda have never had the slightest training in how to protect themselves. I do not think they even realised it was an option until they saw Tauriel with her weapons. They have spent as much time at the training grounds in these last few days as Bain has and Bifur started to show them the basics of how to fend off unwanted attention. If they begin to show some skill and the other lads their age see it, they might well join us just to prove that they can do as well as any girl.’

‘You certainly seem to have a strategy ready to be implemented,’ Thorin said with pride and amusement in his voice. ‘I will feel confident leaving the task with you.’

Fíli flushed slightly again when he realised that he had become very enthusiastic in his planning. He hastened to qualify what he had just been saying.

‘Uncle, I am not sure I will be able to get all of those who need to train involved,’ Fíli told him with an anxious tone. ‘Without being able to give them a solid reason….’

‘I am not expecting miracles,’ Thorin reassured him quickly. ‘Anything you can manage will be better than nothing at all.’

‘Then I will do the best I can,’ Fíli promised. Thorin smiled at him and reached out to ruffle his hair in a way that the boys had hated since they were old enough to be conscious of their dignity. What little they possessed.

‘Off you go then,’ Thorin commanded. ‘A discourse on the merits of the bow as a weapon awaits you.’

‘Oh, the joy,’ Fíli muttered but he left to join Kíli, Legolas and Tauriel quickly enough.

«««

Thorin’s final task before they could move on to Erebor was to put some precautions against the gold-sickness and the Arkenstone in place. The worry had been preying upon his mind for some time but there had always been something else to distract him from it. Now, however, he was only a week or two away from reaching Erebor and it had to be thought of. To ignore the possibility that he would be taken by the sickness would be to endanger all who came with him.

After much thought, he asked to speak to Balin, his nephews, Bilbo, Thranduil, Legolas and Tauriel. Though he knew that he should probably involve all of the Company in such an important discussion, he could not help but recoil from the thought of airing his shortcomings so publicly. Balin, at least, would know from whence his concern came but there were going to be many difficult explanations to make. Of those Thorin planned to talk to only Bilbo, Kíli and Fíli would have no memory of the trouble that Thror’s madness had caused. The boys needed to be involved, of that Thorin was utterly certain. If the weakness was truly inherent in his line then Kíli, too, might be susceptible and what affected Kíli was Fíli’s business as well. Bilbo, Thorin felt, was owed an explanation even if he would never remember why. The hobbit was also vitally important to the success of Thorin’s plans and should be aware of _all_ the difficulties he was likely to encounter, no matter how painful for Thorin himself.

Thranduil’s involvement Thorin had debated for much longer. Ally or not, it went against the grain for Thorin to expose his greatest weaknesses to one not intimately connected to him. After much thought, however, he had realised that warning Thranduil now might prevent much bloodshed later. Their alliance was too newly-formed to easily stand the test of Thorin’s previous irrationality. At least if he was forewarned Thranduil might be less inclined to go to war over the insults and oath-breaking that Thorin might commit. In all likelihood the situation would never get so far. It was more probable that Balin would knock Thorin unconscious and tie him up somewhere out of the way, where he could do no harm. Better safe than sorry, though. Thorin realised that that had become his motto somewhere along the way.

They met in Thranduil’s chambers, a place that Thorin was better acquainted with than he had ever expected to be. He was startled to discover that he actually felt entirely comfortable in the room, rather than as if he was in enemy territory. Thranduil slouched as he had done before and this time Legolas did not sprawl across the length of the rug but sat with his back resting against Tauriel’s legs, ignoring the kicks she gave to try and dislodge him. The sight of the elven prince jerking forward in a regular rhythm, as if he was attempting some bizarrely uncoordinated dance, had Bilbo and Thorin’s nephews nearly hysterical. Legolas appeared blithely unconcerned by Tauriel’s ire and Thorin did wonder if it was wise to be taking an elven prince with a death wish to face a dragon.

‘Legolas, ionneg, either sit somewhere where you will not upset Tauriel or I will move you,’ Thranduil commanded. For a moment Legolas seemed to measure his father’s conviction, then he rose and moved to perch atop the back of Fíli’s seat instead.

‘I will disown you one day,’ Thranduil informed his son.

‘You will not,’ Legolas disagreed. ‘Who would be your heir?’

‘If your father is immortal he does not need an heir,’ Bilbo commented, much as if he was remarking upon the weather. Legolas paused to think this over, though Thorin was sure it was an idea that elves were entirely accustomed to. To be a prince of an elven kingdom was a lifelong role.

‘There is always the chance that he will be killed,’ Legolas pointed out.

‘As I am certain that Thorin did not bring us here to discuss my possible demise,’ Thranduil broke in with a remarkable amount of calm, ‘perhaps we might leave that conversation for later.’

‘That would probably be best,’ Thorin agreed, though he could not resist smiling slightly. He really was becoming fond of these elves against his will. ‘I am afraid I must speak of an equally serious matter, however.’

‘Then best we get it over with, laddie,’ Balin told him. ‘What would you say to us?’

‘We are now on the verge of reaching Erebor,’ Thorin responded, ‘those of us who will make the journey. I am… concerned that there might be more problems than a dragon awaiting us within the Mountain.’

‘Other problems?’ Bilbo queried. ‘If you inform me that there is a Balrog in there as well I will consider any promises made null and void.’ Several chuckles were heard and Thorin found himself snorting with amusement without meaning to.

‘No Balrogs, Bilbo, I promise,’ Thorin answered him. ‘Unfortunately there is a large amount of gold and also the Arkenstone. They could be problems in their own right.’

While most of the room seemed to be confused by this statement, Balin was both better informed and more used to Thorin’s way of thinking.

‘The gold-sickness might not take you as it did Thror and Thrain, Thorin,’ Balin suggested. ‘It does not make sense to assume that you will react exactly as they did.’

‘It also makes little sense to assume that I will not react at all, Balin,’ Thorin argued. ‘If it is a weakness in the line…’

‘Then I might also suffer from it,’ Kíli said, sounding more panicked than Thorin liked. ‘Uncle, what if it takes me too?’

‘More likely,’ Balin asserted quickly, glowering ominously at Thorin, ‘neither of you will have a single problem. Thror’s madness did not suddenly appear out of nowhere. It took years to reach a worrying level. Do not borrow trouble.’

‘I do not wish to do so,’ Thorin responded firmly. ‘Nevertheless I would like to take some precautions. To be prepared for something which does not come is preferable to being unprepared when it does come.’

‘What preparations do you wish to make?’ Thranduil asked then. ‘I would be interested to know why you would speak to us of such a problem,’ he gestured at himself, Legolas and Tauriel. ‘Allies we may be but this is an issue which would normally be dealt with among your own people.’

‘Ideally it would be,’ Thorin answered, ‘but we have seen what happens when rulers decide that other people’s problems are exactly that. Alliances crumble quickly. If I am to be affected by the sickness I would rather that you know I am not myself than that you assume I have been lying all this time.’

‘That is fair,’ Thranduil agreed. ‘What is it you fear most?’

‘The Arkenstone,’ Thorin said without hesitation. ‘My grandfather attempted to run into the treasury while it was occupied by a dragon in order to retrieve that accursed stone. He never ceased to speak of retaking it, even when his eyes turned to Moria. I have suspicions about the ring that my grandfather wore but I do not believe the Arkenstone was entirely without fault either. I would prefer never to come near it, if possible.’

‘To begin with I imagine we will all be far too busy dealing with the dragon to worry about a stone,’ Bilbo asserted. ‘Surely once the dragon is dealt with the Arkenstone could simply be found and then removed from Erebor.’

‘That would be a good option,’ Thorin approved. ‘The question is where it should go.’

‘Is that why we are included?’ Tauriel questioned. ‘You wish the stone to come here?’

‘If I thought it would only affect dwarves then yes, that would be a good option,’ Thorin told her. ‘Unfortunately, I have no way of knowing how wide the Arkenstone’s affects might be. I would not send poison into your realm if I could help it. Also, if I do succumb to the illness and become fixated upon the jewel, the Greenwood is not a difficult place to find.’

‘I thank you for your concern for us,’ Thranduil stated, sounding sincere in his gratitude, ‘and I agree with your worries. As a people we are fond of beautiful things and there is much evidence that a love of jewels can cause many problems for elvenkind.’

‘Ask Gandalf to take it,’ Bilbo offered then. ‘I cannot think of many people less likely to go silly over a pretty stone than Gandalf and the Valar know you would never convince him to give up its hiding place if you suddenly became ill. I do not think it could be much safer.’

Thorin started and looked at Bilbo with a certain amount of awe. That was a simple, all but perfect solution which Thorin would never have considered. Perhaps his distrust of Gandalf had grown too great, Thorin thought to himself. It was apparently all too easy to forget that Gandalf was on their side, despite his secrets and condescension.

‘It would appear to be a good solution,’ Thranduil agreed. ‘Bilbo is right, there is little in Middle Earth that can move Gandalf if he does not wish to be moved.’

‘It also means that it guarded by a mostly-neutral force should we ever need it,’ Balin informed Thorin. ‘I could wish that the wizard was easier to find, admittedly, but we can trust him not to hand it over to our enemies.’

‘Then that is what we will do,’ Thorin decided. ‘If the wizard does manage to arrive before we deal with the dragon then he can remove the Arkenstone himself and take it where he will.’

‘If he does not?’ Kíli asked Thorin.

‘We will ask Bilbo to do our people one more favour,’ Thorin concluded, ‘and have him keep the Arkenstone under guard until Gandalf arrives.’

‘The only problem being,’ Bilbo hurriedly interjected, ‘that I have no chance of keeping it from you if you truly wish for it.’

‘That is where I come in,’ Balin said confidently, used to knowing Thorin’s mind better than he did. ‘If Thorin shows the slightest sign of madness I will ensure that he is in no state to force you to do anything.’

‘As easily as that?’ Tauriel asked, looking doubtfully at Balin.

‘Oh yes, lass,’ Balin replied with his eyes full of devilry. ‘I can think of at least three ways of disabling Thorin right now and that is without my secret weapon.’

‘Secret weapon?’ Legolas questioned with great curiosity. Balin opened his mouth, clearly looking forward to unveiling his cunning plan.

‘Dwalin,’ Thorin pre-empted him. ‘Dwalin may, possibly, once have proved to be capable of knocking me unconscious.’

‘He greeted you in the traditional manner and you fainted dead away,’ Balin gleefully reminded Thorin.

‘Yes, _thank you_ , Balin,’ Thorin responded firmly. ‘I do not think there is any need to go into further detail.’

‘Well, that is comforting,’ Bilbo acknowledged. ‘I will fervently hope that it never comes to that point, however. As I said, the dragon is quite enough to be dealing with for now.’

‘That I think we can all agree with,’ Thranduil told him. ‘However, best we have the precautions if they will ease Thorin’s mind.’

The others all nodded and Thorin was reassured to have their support in this. It was very good to know that he would not be allowed to repeat his previous mistakes, no matter how he might try to. The sooner that rock was out of his kingdom the better Thorin would feel.

««««««

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, BM! Your comments were the inspiration for Thorin's conversation with Fili and went some way to solving a problem I had been worrying over for some time :)


	22. Histories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the dwarves of Erebor have come home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit quicker with the update this time. Thankfully this chapter seemed to want to be written. Thank you for all of your comments and kudos on the last chapter. As always, thanks to ISeeFire for catching the silly mistakes I make and for her continuing entertaining commentary on the original drafts of each chapter :)
> 
> Finally - Lani, if you are reading, I hope the presence of backstory makes up for the fact that I highjacked your name. I didn't mean to but when I realised it seemed quite appropriate so I left it as it was :D

Chapter Twenty-Two: Histories

In the end Thorin had to remain in the Woodland Realm a day longer, for the reforging of the black arrow which Bard had retrieved was quite as difficult as he had expected. Thorin and Kíli were able to borrow the only forge in Thranduil’s Halls, which was well-kept though of late it had been little used.

The workmanship of the black arrow was, as Thorin had expected, far beyond anything that he had ever been able to manage. It was a crime to have to undo all the work that had gone into its making but needs must. With determination and much conferring between themselves, Thorin and Kili managed to produce two smaller arrows of a similar type. These Bilbo would be able to lift and would not find himself tripping over every two seconds, which Thorin felt gave their plans a far greater chance of success. Task completed, Thorin told the Company to prepare to leave the next morning.

«««

It was not an entirely cheerful Company which departed the Woodland Realm the next morning. Kíli was heartbroken at having to leave his brother behind. Fíli, in turn, was concerned about Kíli and the rest of the Company, as well as their new friends. Thranduil was as concerned about Legolas and Tauriel as Thorin was about Fíli. They, at least, were all able to mask their feelings and pretend to have no greater concerns than the state of the road to Erebor.

Tilda could not. Thorin had apparently underestimated just how attached the younger girl had become to the dwarves in the short time she had known them. When it came time for the Company to set out she began to cry and Bifur and Bofur’s attempts to reassure her that they would not be gone long only seemed to make her worse. Dwarven relations with Bard were not improved by Tilda shrugging off her father’s attempts to remove her from her friends. The man’s face was very nearly thunderous and Thorin felt himself grimace.

In the end it was Fíli who managed to defuse the situation. Moving to stand next to Tilda, he reached up and began to stroke her hair gently but made no attempt to move her. Instead he crooned to her much as Dís had once crooned to him when Fíli was upset at Thorin leaving on another job.

‘There now, little one,’ Fíli murmured, ‘it isn’t so bad as all that. You were worried and upset when your Da went to Lake-town but he returned all in one piece. The Company will be back before we know it.’

‘Da wasn't going to f… fight a… dr-dragon,’ Tilda stuttered through her tears. She did not seem much consoled but she had at least let go of Bifur.

‘No, he wasn’t, Fíli agreed. ‘Bifur and the others have survived a lot of terrible things though. If he could come through the Battle of Azanulbizar in one piece, I am sure one dragon is not going to be able to kill him.’

Bifur signed a strong agreement to this comment, which Tilda clearly understood because she let out a watery little giggle.

‘See,’ Fíli said, nudging her gently, ‘Smaug won’t know what’s hit him!’ When he smiled at Tilda this time Fíli allowed a little of his own worry to show through and it had the desired effect. Tilda swallowed down the last of her tears and reached out to hug Fíli.

‘They’ll be back soon,’ she reassured him, as if he had not been offering the same reassurance to her a moment before.

‘I know they will,’ Fíli answered, ‘and when they have returned we will show them just how busy we have been while they are gone. You are going to be able to throw me right over your shoulder, just like Bifur showed you, and I am going to prove to my baby brother once and for all that a dagger is a much better weapon than a bow.’

‘Except when you’re going to fight a dragon,’ Sigrid added as she walked up to the pair.

‘Except when you’re going to fight a dragon’ Fíli conceded. He winked at Sigrid who gave him a small smile as she wrapped her arm around her sister’s shoulders.

‘Come now, Tilda,’ Sigrid told the younger girl, ‘the sooner they leave the quicker they will be back.’

Tilda waved sadly at Bifur, who responded with a gesture of farewell and Thorin forced himself to begin walking. Procrastinating would not suddenly cure the need to leave Fíli behind, nor would it kill a dragon. They had work to be doing.

«««

The trek to Erebor was not a particularly tiring one but most of the Company seemed to find it draining. The sight of Smaug’s desolation of the landscape was a potent reminder of the danger that they faced when they reached their destination, as was the sight of Dale abandoned and crumbling. Thorin remembered high towers and thriving markets and his heart ached at the memory. So many lives destroyed by the dragon. Killing the beast would not bring those people back and nothing Thorin could do would remove the stain on the honour of his family. Before his thoughts could become any more morbid Thorin determined to join the Company’s conversation, which they were determinedly making cheerful.

‘If you waste away any more, brother, your Nula won’t recognise you when next she sees you. She’ll be after me for leaving you behind!’

Bombur greeted Bofur’s announcement with a snort of derision. Bombur, Thorin had discovered, would let Bofur get away with a great deal before putting his foot down. This was probably not the first time a joke of this kind had been aimed his way and Bombur had apparently had enough.

‘If my wife can't recognise me because I am an inch or so thinner around the middle then my weight won't be my biggest concern, Bofur,’ Bombur replied. ‘I will be a lot more worried about the head injury she must be suffering from.’

‘I am not sure an inch or so covers it, Bombur,’ Balin commented with an air of deliberate fairness. ‘Dori has taken those trousers in twice since we set out.’

‘It had to happen eventually,’ Bombur said with a shrug. ‘I haven’t done this much exercise in my life. If I ate enough to stay the same as I was before the rest of you would have starved to death.’

‘Nula will be happy,’ Bifur signed after catching his cousin’s attention. ‘She was worried about you.’

‘I know,’ Bombur replied quietly. ‘That is why you lot haven’t starved to death. It certainly wasn’t because I wanted to keep Bofur well fed.’

Bofur clutched dramatically at his heart while Bilbo chuckled at his friend’s dramatics. Yanking on the edges of Bofur’s hat, as Bilbo was wont to do when teasing Bofur, he rolled his eyes slightly.

‘You may consider yourself lucky _I_ decided not to stick to my normal eating schedule – you’d have been lucky to find a crumb in the bottom of the saddle bags.’

‘Only too true,’ Nori called from further back. ‘The maids nearly had a fit when they realised that those tea trays you kept putting together in the kitchens were only for you.’

‘Given the size of some of the maids I wasn’t sure they knew what the kitchen was for!’ Bilbo retorted before realising that the Company was not entirely alone and looking guiltily at Legolas and Tauriel.

‘Do not worry, Bilbo,’ Legolas cried merrily, ‘Tauriel says something similar almost every time we have to enter the kitchens.’

‘Well it is ridiculous!’ Tauriel exclaimed. ‘They look as if they are trying to turn themselves into willow branches. Their arms are so skinny they probably couldn’t even lift a sword.’

‘Then it is probably a good thing that they will never want to,’ Legolas teased, ‘and they are not trying to turn themselves into willow branches. They just don’t happen to be drawing a bow every day. You looked just like that when we first started training.’

Tauriel sniffed at the idea that she had ever been so scrawny but did not deign to reply.

‘Do you know, it is very refreshing to have such a conversation without Fíli throwing in comments about my beard,’ Kíli pronounced in a thoughtful tone. ‘Perhaps we should leave him behind more often.’

‘If you are going to comment on it yourself instead then we won’t need him,’ Dwalin pointed out, roaring with laughter at the pout Kíli developed when he realised Dwalin was right. ‘It is a tiny little thing anyway,’ Dwalin added, ‘I am surprised Fíli finds anything to talk about.’

Predictably, Kíli leapt at Dwalin, apparently trying to take him out at the knees and only succeeding in knocking Ori to the ground on his way past. Dori growled with irritation and hauled Kíli up by his collar, shaking him firmly like a mother cat with a misbehaving kitten. Having heard the faint moan of pain Ori gave as he tried to get his legs back underneath of him Thorin was not inclined to intervene.

‘If you cannot act your age, Kíli, son of Vili,’ Dori said angrily, ‘you will walk in front of me like a dwarfling so that I may keep a hold of your hair. Let us see how many people you manage to knock over when you risk pulling out a hank of that mess on your head.’

Kíli opened his mouth to protest and then caught sight of Ori’s faltering steps, supported on his injured side by Nori. Thorin was a little worried, actually. If he had realised Ori was still in pain he would not have let him come on this stage of the quest. When Nori caught sight of Thorin’s concerned look he gestured as well as he could with one hand.

‘No worry,’ was the best that Thorin could make out, ‘too hard top liquid make.’ Well that made about as much sense as Dwalin’s stories after his twentieth mug of ale.

Bifur, stood not too far from Nori, gave the rumbling noise that signified his laugh, ignoring Nori’s disgusted look.

‘Don’t worry,’ Bifur signed, ‘he’s too hard-headed to use his ointment.’ That... was nothing like what Nori had said but it did at least make more sense.

Once Ori was steady again Nori huffed at Bifur and walked up to Thorin, muttering to himself.

‘Let’s see how well he can talk one-handed! Do you realise how many of Iglishmêk’s signs need both hands?’ Thorin forbore to comment and Nori continued on without waiting for a response. ‘I will talk to Ori tonight. He has been avoiding using the ointment the elves and Óin said he needed because Dori will fuss. I’ll make sure he realises a little fuss is better than a leg too sore to walk on.’

‘Do so,’ Thorin commanded. ‘I can make some allowance for the pride of the young but this is too important to risk on a whim.’

‘Understood,’ Nori said briskly and Thorin worried that he had been a bit too harsh.

‘If he needs to rest sometimes we have the time,’ he added. ‘There is more than a week until Durin’s day still and we have only another four days of travel if I remember correctly.’

‘Then I will tell him that as well,’ Nori responded with a little less starch in his spine. The thief moved back to his brothers. Conveniently Balin chose that moment to call for Dori, apparently having found a hole in one of the packs that he needed to show to the tailor right at that moment. As soon as the eldest was out of hearing, Nori began to speak rapidly and firmly to Ori. Balin never missed a trick, Thorin mused. It would be disturbing if he did not use it so often for Thorin’s benefit.

«««

The monotony of travel over the next few days was broken only by conversations such as those. So little was able to live in the wastelands surrounding Erebor that the Company had no fear of attack and their weapons were kept nearby mostly out of habit. They never quite got used to the barren land. This seemed to concern Legolas, Tauriel and Bilbo most of all. The elves had never had reason to come this way since the first days after Smaug’s attack, from what Legolas told Thorin. In his anger Thranduil had decreed that there was to be no attempt to heal the land. Let dwarven lands be the problem of the dwarves, he had stated, and his people had obeyed.

‘Your grandfather’s refusal to help us with the spiders and other evils that infested our forest hurt him more than he would admit,’ Legolas told Thorin in a hushed tone at one point as they walked. The Elven Prince was clearly making an effort to shorten his stride so that he did not overtake them all. ‘Up until that point, Father had still considered your people good allies. It was only then that he realised how warped Thror had become. Sometimes the only way to truly test the strength of a tree limb is to rest your weight upon it, he told me when I was younger. In his eyes Thror had given way when the Woodland Realm needed him most.’

‘So then when we needed help he did the same,’ Thorin said, trying to keep any condemnation out of his voice. He would never be happy with Thranduil’s actions that day but they had made their peace and Thorin would not be the one to keep raking over the coals again and again.

‘Yes,’ Legolas said sadly. ‘I did argue with him but it was a bad time for our people. We had just lost two of the families who did not live in the Halls to spider attacks. One had an elfling still many years away from his majority. Father was shattered at the loss. Such a thing had not happened in all the time he ruled the Woodland Realm. His bitterness did him no credit but I could understand it.’

‘As can I,’ Thorin replied. ‘The children are always the hardest to lose. Always.’ They spoke no more of such things. Thorin saw Legolas walking with Dori and his brothers the next day and wondered if their serious expressions had something to do with Thorin and Legolas’ discussion but he did not wish to interfere. They were speaking calmly enough and it might have nothing to do with past events.

Bilbo’s concern was less rooted in history and more in shock. In their travels they had passed through many unwelcoming lands but never one so utterly without life.

‘It isn’t natural,’ Bilbo told Thorin and Balin in an aggrieved tone. ‘Even the most inhospitable climates have some sort of plant life in them, don’t they? There were shoots poking out of cracks in the rock in the Misty Mountains but there’s just… nothing. How can that happen?’

‘Dragonfire is not just fire, lad,’ Balin responded. ‘I will not claim to know anything about such things. I might once have studied it but the subject was too hard to think about after Smaug came. I have come across some mentions of dragon-ruled lands in older texts when I was researching something else though. All agree that nothing grows in those lands while the dragon lives. Dragons have no love of things that grow, only of that which can be mined from rock.’

‘Like dwarves,’ Bilbo said, then clapped his hand over his mouth in horror.

‘I have said something close to that more than once in these last few months, Bilbo,’ Thorin said though he wasn’t able to keep his tone as light as he might have wished. ‘There is no need to worry.’

‘It was a terrible thing to say,’ Bilbo objected. ‘To say it about your own people is different than to have another saying it.’

‘We can forgive you, Bilbo,’ Balin reassured him. ‘Considering that you are about to walk into the dragon’s lair, scolding you for your manners seems a little unfair.’

‘I should not need to be reminded of my manners and yet I seem to require reminding alarmingly frequently of late,’ Bilbo responded. ‘My parents would be horrified.’

Thorin could not see how twice in several months was alarmingly frequently - Dis had reminded Thorin of his at least ten times in a normal week in Ered Luin - but he did not contradict Bilbo. Clearly hobbit standards were different to those of dwarves.

‘To return to our point,’ Balin continued, ‘it is unlikely that the land will truly thrive until Smaug is dead. Even then it may take a long time. Dwarves are not known for their green thumbs.’

‘Hobbits are,’ Bilbo said, sounding sure of himself once more. ‘I will make sure I give someone plenty of tips before I leave. I am not as good as the Gamgees but I can give you an idea of where to start at least.’

‘You need not leave,’ Thorin found himself saying even though he knew he shouldn’t. They had kept Bilbo from his home and his family quite long enough as it was. ‘You would be welcome to stay in Erebor.’

‘Oh,’ Bilbo said with much surprise, ‘thank you. I… I will have to think about it.’

Well, that was better than a straight no, Thorin decided. It would be hard to lose the fourteenth member of their Company when the quest was over and Thorin was sure that his own dislike of parting from family would overcome his scruples about parting Bilbo from his. Should Bilbo agree to stay, of course. It was a shameful trait, greedy most would say, but Thorin had done worse things than steal a hobbit in his time. He was sure he would be able to bear the shame.

During this conversation they had crested the final rise on their journey. With two days still to go before Durin’s day, Thorin and his Company had finally reached Erebor once more. They all paused for a moment just to look. The Mountain had been a constant presence ever since they had come through a deserted Lake-town but to see it from so close up was still breath-stealing.

‘We’re here,’ Thorin heard Kíli say by his shoulder. ‘Uncle, we’re here. We made it.’

‘So we did,’ Thorin replied, able to hear the awe in his own voice. Had this moment felt the same way in his past life, Thorin wondered. Had he felt so overwhelmed then at the realisation that he had come home at last? The Mountain was so big that Thorin knew he had never been to this part before Erebor fell. Perhaps he would have been brought here if they had survived a few more years. Yet, somehow, even a bleak rockface was comforting in this moment. He was home.

‘We’ll need to find this door we’re supposed to go in through,’ Dwalin said gruffly as he tried to give the appearance of being entirely unmoved. Dwalin had seen the Mountain before, Thorin knew, when he and Balin had come to survey the area many years ago, but he had never been so close. One large hand was gripping Balin’s shoulder tightly and Thorin could see Balin leaning back as if the support was keeping him upright.

‘It need not be right now,’ Thorin forced himself to say. ‘We have time for a moment to catch our breath.’

‘Perhaps Tauriel, Bilbo and I should go and look,’ Legolas said tactfully. ‘We have sharp eyes even if they are not so well trained as your own.’

This statement Thorin translated as “why don’t we go and have a look and let the rest of you get a grip on yourselves again”. Unable to tear his eyes away from the Mountain, despite knowing that it was hardly going to disappear if he blinked, Thorin decided that some time might not be the worst idea.

‘That would be very kind,’ he responded to Legolas and within moments the trio were gone.

‘Dori,’ Nori said in a small, quiet voice that sounded nothing like himself, ‘tell us about the market again.’

Dori was sat on the ground not far from where Thorin was standing and seemed to be finding tearing his eyes away equally difficult. When Nori and Ori sat down he gathered them to him as if they were children and Thorin was surprised to realise that Nori was not even going to offer a protest.

Sensing an impending story (as well as a break from walking) several of the others also took seats upon the ground and Thorin made himself join them, deliberately sitting with his back to Erebor. There would be time for rejoicing when Smaug was dead, not before.

‘In Erebor it was always market day,’ Dori began, the words having the feeling of a tale that had been told many times before. ‘Lori and I were only young, far too young yet for any serious lessons, and so Mum would take us with her each day to the stall where she sold her wares. Her talents were far greater than my own. The work of Lani, daughter of Lato, was known throughout Erebor and even in Dale. She wove tapestries the like of which you have never seen, full of the grand tales of our people and the other races. Lord Girion himself commissioned from her a tapestry of Sauron’s defeat to hang in his Great Hall, although Mum never had the chance to finish it.

‘Mum’s were not the only wares at the market though. Every item you could wish for was there. The bakers started firing up their ovens before the sun crept over the horizon outside and the scent of fresh bread and cakes filled the hall. One of the bakers made a type of sweet bread I have never seen since – full of apple and sweet spices. Mum used to joke with him that one day he would tell her the secret but he always said she’d have to leave Dad and marry him first.’

Thorin laughed, as did some of the others. Dwarven marriages were lifelong pacts. That was a very pretty way of refusing to divulge his secret to anyone. Thorin thought he remembered the bread that Dori was speaking of. For Thorin, Frerin and Dís trips to the market had been rare treats generally accompanied by far too much pomp and ceremony for Thorin’s liking. There had been one baker who had always made sure to slip them such a treat, though. Thorin had liked him for not making a public show of their interest in his goods as so many others had. When Dís had read their mother’s account of what had become of the dwarf, many years later, she had cried bitterly.

‘There were many jewellers and other craftsmen in the market,’ Dori continued. ‘Dad said that in better days men and elves had flocked there to buy luxuries of finer make than anything their own people produced. I never saw any though, so it may just have been a tall tale.’

‘It was not, lad,’ Balin told him gently, with an apologetic look for interrupting. ‘They often came when Thror was newly crowned but they knew themselves unwelcome by the time you were born.’

‘It is good to know he was not just trying to pull the wool over my eyes,’ Dori said with a slight smile before taking up his thread. ‘I loved the market for the colours. All different types of dyes were available and, while we could not afford to dress in the brighter colours, you saw many a noblewoman wander the aisles all in red or bright blue or purple. The hall was lit by hundreds of candles that were never allowed to go out and the jewellery that was sold caught the light when it was moved. Once or twice, when the front gates were opened, there were rainbow patterns on the walls as the sunlight reflected too.

‘The noise seemed normal if you had been in the market for some time but when you first walked in it hit you like a hammer on solid stone. Dwarves called out to advertise their wares and there were always conversations taking place. I remember that one of the dwarrowdams who sold silks and other textiles had the loudest laugh I’d ever heard. It used to echo around the room and people almost always started to laugh along with her. The sound was infectious.

‘My favourite part was always the toy stalls though. All of the merchants there knew Lori and I by sight so they never minded if we snuck over to have a look. One of them was our aunt-by-law and she used to set some of the toys on the floor behind her stall so that we could play with them when we wanted. That was where Lori and I used to find the other children when we wanted to play and sometimes we used to run in and out of the stalls in games of tig or hide and go seek. Holdi, the fruit-seller, used to throw things at us when we ran past. Dwarves who did not know him would frown at him but he used to throw fruit that wasn’t quite good enough to sell and as long as we were quick enough to catch it we were allowed to eat it. Of all the things I miss about Erebor, I miss those days at the markets with our sister the most.’

There was quiet after that for a while. Bofur had his eyes shut but he was not asleep. It looked more like he was trying to imagine the picture that Dori had painted for them. Óin smiled sadly, perhaps thinking of his own mother who had been a goldsmith before she married their father. Maybe they had met in the market, Thorin thought. He could not remember if he had ever known the story.

‘I miss the sight from the gate,’ Thorin heard, startled to realise he was the one speaking. ‘The first memory I have of Mother is being taken onto the wall above the front gate. She lifted me up so that I could look down into Erebor and told me that one day the people I saw there would be mine to guard and care for. Remember, she said, that they are no less than you are and how they live reflects as much on you as it does on them.’

‘That is what you told us,’ Kíli said to Thorin. ‘When we were little you told us that.’

‘I did,’ Thorin replied, smiling at his nephew fondly. ‘It was the best advice on kingship I was ever given, it seemed only right to pass it on.’

‘I wish we had met grandmother,’ Kíli commented. ‘She sounds a lot like Mum.’

‘She was. If I remember correctly I asked Mother if that meant it was good to buy more toys because then the people would have more money. She laughed and told me she would have to speak to Fundin about what he was teaching me, then told me I could buy myself as many toys as I wished… as soon as I was old enough to pay for them myself. The first time I was given money of my own by Father I was too old for toys but I went to buy some anyway. I took her up to the gate wall and handed them to her all wrapped up in brown paper. She laughed and laughed when she opened them, then called me an insolent pup and smacked me on the back of the head for my cheek. Of all the things I miss about Erebor, I miss that above all. Looking down on the charge we had been given and knowing that even princes and princesses are allowed to be silly and laugh.’

‘They will be again,’ Balin told Thorin wisely. ‘With your nephews in Erebor silliness is almost guaranteed.’

And Thorin heard laughter near Erebor once more.

««««««


	23. Remembrance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are many types of hero in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go - have a chapter! Thank you so much for all of the amazing comments and kudos on the last chapter. I'm so happy that people liked it and I hope you enjoy this one as well. Thank you, ISeeFire, for spotting a number of silly mistakes I had missed. Hopefully I managed to find the rest :)

Chapter Twenty-Three: Remembrance

By the time Legolas, Bilbo and Tauriel returned from their explorations the dwarves had settled themselves. As the others came into view the dwarves rose to their feet, ready to begin searching for their way into Erebor. However, Thorin was not particularly surprised when Bilbo announced that they had already found the doorway. In hindsight the hiding place was not exactly discreet if you knew there was something to look for.

‘We need to find a good place to set up camp,’ Thorin instructed. ‘Somewhere that will provide some cover should Smaug leave the Mountain.’

‘There is a small area by the door,’ Legolas informed him, ‘but I do not think it looked big enough for a camp. There is plenty of room on the ground but very little cover. I am not sure an ideal spot will be easy to find.’

Unfortunately, that sounded much as Thorin remembered it. Last time they had arrived with so little time to spare that it had not really mattered.

‘On the ground for now then,’ Thorin decided. ‘On Durin’s Day we’ll move up to the door and stay there whatever happens. We can always go inside and try to take cover that way if necessary.’

‘Hopefully you won’t need to,’ Bilbo said tentatively but he didn’t sound convinced. Thorin could not blame him. To say that their plan had a number of holes would be an understatement.

«««

The time before the arrival of sunset on Durin’s Day passed quietly. At first the Company tried to go over all the scenarios that might possibly occur, looking to create contingency plans. This soon ground to a halt. There was only so much planning that they could do without being able to predict Smaug’s actions and they were accomplishing little except going round in circles. After that Nori and Dwalin moved on to trying to give Bilbo all of the helpful advice that they could think of, until finally Bilbo announced that he could not possibly retain everything that they were telling him.

So, despite their anxiety regarding what was to happen, it was a thankful Company who watched the sun begin to set on Durin’s Day. With his prior knowledge of when the keyhole would really appear Thorin was able to keep his nerve until moonrise. Even so, the relief of finally seeing their way in nearly made Thorin’s knees weak. He had felt jittery before, though he had hidden it well, half-convinced that something, anything, would go wrong at this last moment.

Now a feeling of complete calm descended upon him. Turning back, Thorin looked first at Balin and then at Dori.

‘Together, brothers,’ he said and they silently stepped forward to stand on either side of him. Thorin placed both hands on the door and pushed. There was a rushing of air as the door opened for the first time in Mahal only knew how long and then Thorin moved into the Mountain at last.

Balin seemed to be unable to move for a moment and tears were welling up in his eyes when Thorin looked to see why he wasn’t following.

‘Balin?’ Thorin queried worriedly. His friend jolted slightly and then came into the passageway as if he was being tugged forward. Dori had already entered but Dwalin stepped into the entrance behind Balin, gazing as impassively as he could manage at all around him.

‘Was it like this before?’ Balin asked Thorin, the complete discretion he so prided himself on lost in the moment. ‘Did it feel like this?’

‘It was beyond description,’ Thorin told him sincerely, ‘just as it is now.’

‘We’re home,’ Dori murmured wonderingly from the side and Thorin reached forward to rest his hand gently against one wall. If the stone felt almost... _welcoming_ , Thorin dismissed it as a fancy brought on by the atmosphere among the Company. With Balin so obviously overwhelmed, Dori reaching out to draw his brothers through the door and Kíli smiling joyously as he entered the home that had only ever been a myth to him, it was all too easy to feel as if some sort of magic must be at work.

Even as Bilbo entered Erebor behind Bombur, Oin and Gloin, staring about with wide eyes, Thorin realised that Bifur and Bofur were lingering at the entrance, leaning against the edges of the door without coming further in. Briefly, Thorin was concerned that all of their reminiscing and storytelling had left the two dwarves, who had no links of their own to Erebor, feeling as if they did not belong.

Then Bofur raised his head and looked directly at Thorin, strangely solemn despite the twinkle in his eyes.

‘She’s glad to have you back,’ Bofur informed Thorin cryptically, though he seemed to feel this explained everything.

‘She?’ Thorin asked in bewilderment. The only female for miles was Tauriel, who was still outside with Legolas and would have no reason to be glad that Thorin was anywhere.

‘Erebor,’ Bofur clarified, as if mountains told him such things all the time... oh. Perhaps this did make sense after all.

‘You have the stone speech,’ Thorin replied. ‘Mahal, Bofur, I thought that talent all but lost. Why did you not say anything?’

‘It didn’t really come up,’ Bofur said blithely.

‘Bifur as well?’ Thorin questioned.

‘Aye,’ Bofur answered, ‘though not so strongly.’

‘Why are you toymakers?’ Balin interjected, almost accusingly. ‘With such a gift as that, why give up mining?’

‘Ered Luin has gone almost silent,’ Bofur responded sadly. For the first time Thorin could sense deep grief in his ever-cheerful companion. ‘We have been losing him since before your people even arrived. Those who were in charge of the settlement ignored our uncle when he tried to warn them that mining so freely was doing more harm than good. It grew too hard to listen to the voice fading. All we could do was pull back ourselves.’

Looking at Bofur’s hands, ungloved for the first time Thorin could remember, Thorin began to understand the other dwarf a little more.

‘If there is the slightest sign that such a thing is beginning to happen to Erebor, you must tell me,’ Thorin instructed Bofur. ‘I would not have the Mountain harmed further through lack of care.’

‘And that is why she has missed you,’ Bifur answered in his cousin’s stead, then smiled slightly as he ran his hand over the wall. ‘Though she is looking forward to having all of you back.’

‘She knows about Fíli?’ Kíli asked incredulously. He moved closer to one wall, leaning against it as if he was comforted to know that someone else wished for his brother to be here.

‘She knows that you are thinking of him,’ Bofur answered, ‘and of your mother as well. If they are of your line then she would have them here.’

‘Once this is all done,’ Thorin told Bofur and Bifur firmly, ‘you and the boys and I are going to sit down and have a long conversation about Erebor.’

‘More translation duties!’ Bofur announced happily and Thorin shook his head. Nothing kept Bofur down for very long.

‘I hate to ruin your fun,’ Dwalin told Thorin unconvincingly, ‘but you do realise we have something rather important to do?’

‘By which Dwalin means that I have something to do,’ Bilbo said quietly. When Thorin looked at him he saw that the hobbit was taking deep breaths. Thorin was strongly reminded of the way Bilbo had acted when Bofur had so subtly broken the news that they wanted him to steal from a dragon.

‘Bilbo,’ Thorin said worriedly, ‘are you well?’

‘Fine,’ Bilbo squeaked, then cleared his throat and tried again. ‘I am fine.’

‘Lad, you don’t have to go,’ Dwalin surprisingly chipped in. Of all those that Thorin had expected to worry about Bilbo, Dwalin was fairly low down the list.

‘Yes,’ Bilbo said far more firmly, ‘I do. I said I would and I will.’ The hobbit stood still and straightened himself up, then added, ‘Though perhaps I had best do it soon - before I change my mind.’

‘He is right,’ Balin said reluctantly, ‘and the more noise we make the more difficult it will be for Bilbo. Back outside, all of you.’

The Company left one by one, until finally only Bilbo and Thorin remained.

‘I will do the best that I can,’ Bilbo told Thorin bravely.

‘That I do not doubt,’ Thorin replied. ‘The Dwarves of Erebor have never had so true a friend. I would prefer that we kept him as long as possible. The slightest hint that things will not go to plan and you leave, Bilbo. I would have your word on this.’

‘But if I leave...’ Bilbo tried to argue. Thorin knew what he was going to say and half of Thorin thought that Bilbo was right. The other half told him to go and soak his head in a barrel. There was such a thing as asking too much of someone.

‘If you have to leave we will find a way to do what we must,’ Thorin assured him. ‘All of us, together.’

‘Very well,’ Bilbo replied. ‘I take your meaning, Thorin Oakenshield. Hopefully the next time we meet I will be able to tell you that the dragon is dead.’

With that Bilbo turned and began to walk down the passageway before him. Thorin watched until the hobbit was no longer in sight. Then he, too, went outside. All he could do now was wait.

«««

Bilbo had never been so scared in all his life. His heart was a thunderous sound in his ears, so loud that he could not hear whether he was making any noise as he moved. He had continued to take deep breaths but they did not seem to be working – his head was spinning slightly and he stopped and leaned against the passage wall to try and steady himself.

What was he doing? What in the name of all that was good had made him think that he could do this? Hobbits did not go on adventures. Hobbits did not deal in the affairs of kings. Hobbits most certainly did not slay dragons.

‘Oh, do shut up, you silly fool!’ Bilbo snapped at himself, unconsciously mimicking the stern tone Gandalf had taken when he was annoyed. ‘You are here now. Much good it will do you to witter on about what hobbits don’t do.’

There were a number of sayings in the Shire about those who held conversations with themselves. Bilbo thought that he probably fit most of them by now. Shaking himself firmly, Bilbo decided that if talking to himself was going to get the job done then that was what he would do.

‘You promised that you would kill this dragon, Bilbo Baggins, so pull yourself together and get moving. If you wanted to try and kill him from a distance you should have tried archery when Tauriel suggested it.’

Forcing himself upright, Bilbo forged ahead down the passage. It felt slightly like trying to push forward through a gale but Bilbo knew that that was only in his head. Nothing was stopping him except his own fear and his friends were more important than that.

‘Look at everything that Thorin and the others have managed to accomplish in the last few months,’ Bilbo muttered, ignoring the fact that he had been with them the whole time. ‘Think of how they convinced the elves and the men to help them despite everything else that was between them. All _you_ need to do is keep putting one foot in front of the other. How hard can that be?’

By the time he had finished this speech Bilbo had reached a curve in the passage. Inching his way along the wall until he could peek around Bilbo found himself confronted by the sight of more gold than he had ever seen or imagined.

‘Good grief,’ he whispered. ‘Thank goodness I did not agree to take a fourteenth of that home. Where would I even have put it?’

Possibly not the most pressing concern at the moment but Bilbo was a hobbit and they were practical souls. Practicality soon drew Bilbo to pay attention to a larger problem. Quite apart from the fact that no dragon was immediately visible – and Smaug _should_ have been visible considering how big he was – there was nothing but a sea of what appeared to be gold pieces before Bilbo. Making his way silently across a floor of rock or earth was one thing. To be silent on a floor of moving metal was entirely another.

Without a sound, Bilbo drew the ring from his pocket and slipped it onto his finger. Up until now he had been avoiding the thing slightly. Obviously it was not evil, as Thorin seemed to think, but still there was no reason to have the ring out when he did not need it. If there had ever been a moment that invisibility was needed, however, it was now.

Had there been anyone there to see, the sight of small pieces of gold skittering away from invisible feet would have made them stare. Bilbo sincerely hoped that no one was watching, given that the only beings here were he and Smaug.

Bilbo moved carefully and slowly, still trying to work out where amongst all of this gold the dragon was hiding. Surely there must be some way to work out which part of the pile was Smaug. Although how he was going to find one weak spot in impenetrable armour if he could not even find the dragon Bilbo did not know.

Then, just as he was nearing a pillar further into the room, Bilbo felt something move beneath his feet. Looking towards a faint noise he saw a pile of coins slide downwards further across the room. Underneath them was the tip of a tail – a tip larger than the entirety of Bilbo’s body. Bilbo tried to swallow around the lump that seemed to have appeared in his throat. If that was the tail, and the dragon really was that large, then that meant....

Bilbo closed his eyes and took several more deep breaths, hands clenching in the fabric of the coat Dori had made for him. That meant that he was, at this moment, standing atop a dragon.

‘Oh no,’ Bilbo whispered breathlessly. This was not good. This was not good _at all_.

So, as is always the case, that was when the situation got much, much worse.

More coins shifted. In fact, rather than a trickle, this time it sounded as if it was a veritable cascade. Bilbo could hardly bear to look but he knew that he had to.

When he did he wished that he had not.

The coins had cleared a large area about halfway up the mound that Bilbo stood upon, far too close to Bilbo himself for his comfort. That space showed half of a massive, scale-covered head. The muzzle was long and blunt, with circular nostrils on either side, and the size made it clear that Smaug could swallow Bilbo whole, possibly without even noticing that he had done so.

Worst of all, though, was the eye. For not only was the eye as ridiculously large as everything else about the dragon – it was open.

Bilbo felt like a rabbit that had just become the target of a warg. Had he expired then and there from fright he would not have been surprised.

‘Well, well,’ a clipped, menacing voice said. ‘It would seem I have myself a thief. The question is, though, where are you, thief?’

«««

Everything felt flat with the Company gone, Fíli mused darkly as he sat in his room in Thranduil’s Halls. As if being without Kíli wasn’t bad enough, the others had taken Legolas and Tauriel with them. Fíli was determinedly ignoring the fact that he had been the one to volunteer to stay behind. He was also ignoring the fact that Bain, Sigrid and Tilda had remained behind and that Thranduil had subtly assured Fíli that he was welcome to join Thranduil on any evening if he wished for company. Fíli was sulking and sulking left no room for petty things like logic.

It was not even as if he had nothing to do. Mahal knew that convincing the Men of Esgaroth to begin training with weapons was going to be no easy task. The more time they had for such training the better, which meant that Fíli needed to get off his backside and get to work. He did not want to though. This was the first time he could ever remember being without Kíli when there was no guarantee of being reunited within a day at most. In Ered Luin it had been tacitly understood that where one brother went, so did the other. Even their uncle, who was not inclined to coddle them, had not started taking Fíli out with him on jobs until Kíli was also ready to go.

Fíli felt as if he’d lost a limb. A messy-haired, annoying limb but still a vital one. How did people do important things on their own? It wasn’t natural.

Finally Fíli’s self-pity reached a point where he was actually disgusting himself. Like it or not, Fíli had been forced to mature during this journey and going back to having tantrums like a dwarf half his age was ridiculous.

With this thought in his mind, Fíli pushed himself up out of his chair and began to neaten himself up ready for dinner. Thranduil had said that he would hold dinner in one of the smaller dining rooms for the more important residents of Esgaroth. Fíli assumed that this meant the ones he did not want to speak to but felt he could not ignore. Fíli felt as if he should probably be there too, both as his uncle’s heir and to give Thranduil some support.

When Fíli arrived at the dining hall he saw that there were about thirty people assembled, though the room seemed large enough to hold twice as many. Bard and his children were there, as well as those who had been pointed out to Fíli as Master Draper, his wife and children. They were not sat together though. Mistress Draper was across the room near to the Master of Lake-town. Several men that Fíli did not know also stood nearby with their wives and a few children who must belong to one or the other of them. Mistress Halma stood with Bard and the room seemed to be clearly divided between the two groups. This was going to be an uncomfortable dinner.

Fíli decided to make his alliances clear, if they could be doubted at all. Crossing the room, he stopped next to Bard’s children and smiled at them.

‘Well, are you all ready to train hard in the morning?’ Fíli asked them, smiling more widely at the enthusiastic response.

‘You aren’t going to kill me quickly tomorrow!’ Bain announced. The women on the other side of the room looked very startled at this pronouncement and Fíli laughed.

‘Keep hoping, youngling,’ he said, purposely baiting Bain to hear the noise of outrage in response.

‘I’m not that much younger than you,’ Bain argued fiercely, which only made Fíli laugh harder.

‘Oh, I think you’ll find you are,’ Fíli teased.

‘Fíli is nearly as old as Master Nairn!’ Tilda added, as smug as any younger sibling who knows something that the older one doesn’t. Bain did not deign to respond.

‘Anyway, we will meet bright and early tomorrow and you can show me how much you are improving,’ Fíli told Bain, who clearly decided to let the subject go and nodded his agreement.

‘Will you continue to teach us?’ Sigrid asked him, sounding a little worried.

‘Of course,’ Fíli assured her.

‘Teach you?’ Bard queried suddenly. ‘What have they been teaching you?’

‘Da,’ Sigrid said with a slightly nervous air, ‘Master Bifur told us that dwarven women are all taught how to defend themselves in case of an attack. He offered to teach us and Tilda and I wanted to know, so we said yes.’ Fíli braced himself for a potential explosion.

‘That is not a bad idea,’ Bard mused. ‘In fact, I wish I had thought of it earlier. I would have felt much more comfortable leaving the two of you in town if I had.’

‘You do not mind?’ Fíli questioned, not quite able to hide his surprise. Bard chuckled, though it was not an entirely mirthful sound.

‘Master Fíli, I am not a monster,’ he answered, unknowingly echoing Fíli’s comments to his uncle. ‘I will not object to every plan just because it comes from a dwarf. I want the girls to be safe even more than you do.’

‘Good,’ Fíli said firmly, ‘then we are agreed about one thing at least.’

‘I will come with you to the training room in the morning,’ Bard informed his children. ‘I will be very interested to see all that you have learned. What weapons have you been training with?’

‘None yet,’ Tilda complained in a tone of obvious disappointment. ‘Bifur said that your body should be your first weapon and until we could use that he would not give us anything sharp. No one said that to Bain!’

‘Yes, they did!’ Bain argued back. ‘Kíli wouldn’t let me even _hold_ a bow until I showed him that I knew how to stand and hold the position properly. He said if I did not know that, then I would only hurt myself.’

‘Then he gave you good advice,’ Bard stated, leaving no room for argument. Fíli thought he could sense some satisfaction in Bard when Bain talked about the bow, however. Kíli had been right, then. Teaching Bain another weapon would have put Bard’s nose out of joint. Well thought, little brother.

‘You will have to get your father to continue teaching you, Bain,’ Fíli said then. ‘I have no skill with a bow at all. He will be a much better teacher.’

‘I had intended to begin his training soon anyway,’ Bard mused. ‘Now is as good a time as any.’

‘Would you train me, too, Master Bard?’ came another voice. Looking around, Fíli saw Master Draper’s eldest son stood nearby. ‘Prince Legolas let me try the bow but now that he’s gone I don’t have anyone to teach me.’

‘Of course, Eric,’ Bard responded. ‘Come with Bain in the morning and we will see what I can teach you.’

‘I can use a sword!’ the youngest of Varr Draper’s sons announced then. No wonder Uncle hadn’t wanted the Company to meet this one. He was absolutely adorable, especially with his small face scrunched into a serious expression.

‘Can you, little one?’ Fíli asked seriously. ‘You will have to show me tomorrow.’

‘And Mati,’ the young boy said, clearly as a second thought. Mati must be the third lad, quieter than the other two Fíli would guess, but by the set of his jaw no less determined.

‘Definitely,’ Fíli answered, smiling at Mati. ‘If Prince Legolas wished to begin your training then I am eager to see what you can do.’ Mati smiled in response and Fíli made an inward note to give the boy some time tomorrow. He had a feeling Mati would not put himself forward if he was forgotten.

Thranduil chose that moment to make a suitably dramatic entrance, as he clearly preferred to when dealing with slightly unwelcome company, followed by a number of higher members of his court.

‘My apologies for keeping you waiting,’ the King announced. ‘Please, let us be seated so that we may eat.’

‘Food!’ Varr’s youngest exclaimed audibly. Mistress Draper was clearly annoyed but Varr tapped the boy gently on the head.

‘Food indeed, Alnir,’ he said with a slightly scolding tone. Alnir clearly knew what that tone meant.

‘Sorry, Master King,’ Alnir said sheepishly to Thranduil.

‘Not at all, henig,’ Thranduil said. ‘I am also very glad that it is time to eat.’ Alnir beamed at him, before suddenly being overcome by a fit of shyness and hiding behind Varr. Oh yes, Fíli thought, this one they would have to watch out for.

«««

Thankfully, Fíli was able to ignore most of Esgaroth’s people during dinner. Thranduil had ignored convention and had not seated his guests according to their rank. The King and those of his court who dined with him were scattered throughout the room, though Thranduil had claimed a seat near Fíli and the children within moments of declaring dinner to be served.

‘If I look likely to kill one of them, stop me,’ Thranduil commanded Fíli in an undertone. Fíli huffed under his breath.

‘Stop you! I am more likely to join you. Some of them are so far up their own arses I’m surprised they can see daylight.’

‘Not quite how I would have phrased it,’ Thranduil told him wryly, ‘but true enough.’

‘Everybody over there is boring,’ Alnir announced, having apparently overcome his shyness. Thankfully he did at least keep his voice to a true whisper this time. ‘You should stay here with us.’

‘I have every intention of doing so, Master Alnir,’ Thranduil assured the boy. ‘If they try to make me move I shall expect you to defend me.’

‘I’ll kick them,’ Alnir promised with a mulish set to his face.

‘Oh Valar,’ Varr murmured. ‘Alnir, you are forbidden from kicking _anyone_ in this room, most especially your mother. My lords, please do not encourage him. He is unruly enough as it is.’

‘I fear I cannot allow you to kick my guests, Master Alnir,’ Thranduil said with palpable disappointment, ‘no matter how much good it would do them. We will just have to hope that none of them come over here.’

‘Perhaps if we pray hard enough one of the Valar will hear us,’ Sigrid murmured. Fíli really did like that girl. She had a much sharper tongue than anyone seemed to realise.

‘I think this would be a good time to change the conversation,’ Bard interjected, though he was eyeing the other table nervously. The Master and Mistress Draper in particular were clearly unamused at having been seated so far from the King. Thranduil’s people were making a valiant effort to distract them but Fíli was not certain that they wouldn’t storm his own table at some point.

The conversation did turn and most of the meal was spent more happily than Fíli had expected. There were so few young children in Ered Luin that he had never really experienced the full joy of being an adult and seeing the world through younger eyes. The children were hilarious and Fíli greatly regretted his uncle’s insistence that the Company couldn’t steal them and keep them in Erebor.

Unfortunately it seemed that they weren’t going to get to the end of the meal without any interference from the rest of the room.

‘I do not see,’ the Master suddenly proclaimed, his voice rising above the general chatter, ‘why the dwarves should escape any consequences for what they did to Dale. It was their actions that saw the city destroyed.’

Fíli felt a moment of clawing panic. He was not a shy person. Normally he had no trouble speaking to anyone about anything. Yet now, for the first time, he was representing his people with no one else there to save him if he started to make a mistake. What if he somehow turned the men against Erebor? Oh Mahal, Uncle would kill him!

‘Steady,’ Thranduil murmured so quietly that no other would hear him. ‘He is taunting you, that is all. You know what your uncle would say in response.’

He did, Fíli realised with great relief. He had heard his uncle talk this subject over time and time again. All he had to do was use the same arguments.

‘Erebor has not attempted to escape the consequences, Master of Lake-town,’ Fíli answered confidently, even as all turned to look at him. ‘My uncle and our companions have gone to Erebor to try and resolve the greatest of those consequences now. With the dragon dead any town in these parts will be far safer.’

‘Well, I am sure that will be very comforting for us all,’ the Master said, a greedy little look in his eyes. ‘A dead dragon will not rebuild a town, however.’

So that was where the vile man was going with this, Fíli thought. The Master wanted money from the dwarves. Why was he not surprised?

‘No,’ Fíli answered baldly, ‘it will not. If the time comes to rebuild Dale, you may speak to my uncle about your concerns and he will be able tell you what help Erebor can offer. As we have not reclaimed our home yet, we will obviously not be able to make any plans now.’

Which was a complete lie, of course. Thorin had already offered Thranduil a great deal that the dwarves didn’t actually have to give. There was not a chance that they were giving this man so much as a brass poker if they could help it, though. Uncle and Balin could have the joy of telling him so.

‘Oh, yes, of course,’ the Master uttered with all the condescension he could muster. ‘I am sure your uncle will recognise how much we are owed after our losses. We, after all, did not have prosperous relatives to take us in when our home was destroyed.’

Luckily, Bard chose to intervene then, before Fíli could be tempted to try and murder the man before him for sheer stupidity if nothing else. It would almost be worth the inevitable punishment that he would suffer.

‘You are making very free use of the term “we”, considering that your family has lived in Esgaroth since before Dale ever fell,’ Bard pointed out to his frequent opponent.

‘Unlike some,’ the Master shot back swiftly, his glance making it clear that he was aiming this barb at Fíli, ‘my family take the pain of all our people as our own. It is only right that I should do my best to see justice done.’

Unfortunately for the Master, Fíli was as much Dís’ son as he was Thorin’s nephew. Dís, daughter of Dílna, would know exactly how to deal with this upstart man.

‘Tell me, Master,’ Fíli said with a dry, cultured tone that none in the room had heard him use before, ‘who was lost on the day that Dale fell?’

‘I beg your pardon?’ the Master sputtered, taken entirely off guard by the odd question.

‘It is a simple enough question for one who cares so deeply for the pain of Dale’s people,’ Fíli informed him. ‘Who was lost that day?’

‘Girion fell when Dale was destroyed,’ the Master threw at him. ‘All know that!’

‘They do,’ Fíli agreed. ‘Surely Girion was not the only casualty, though, in a town of so many.’

‘Of course he was not,’ the Master answered. ‘That is my entire point.’

‘Then I am surprised that you can’t tell me more about those who lived in the city,’ Fíli replied in turn. ‘Surely there must have been tales of what happened that day among those who survived. Those would have been passed down through the generations.’

‘Of course,’ the Master said, more calmly as he appraised Fíli carefully. ‘Certainly you would not mind if we asked to hear your own people’s tales first, though. After the dwarves lost so much they must have their own stories.’

And there, Fíli thought with vicious glee, I have you. Let us see what you can do against the work of Dílna and Dís of Erebor.

‘Not at all,’ Fíli said graciously. ‘My grandmother began to collect such stories shortly after Erebor fell. It is the role of the queens and younger children of Erebor’s royal family to keep a record of our histories so that the line of Durin does not forget those who have come before. When my grandmother died, the role passed to my mother. She taught my brother and I our letters by reading to us from the Book of Heroes. Perhaps I should share my favourite of the stories with you.’

‘Please do,’ Varr interjected. ‘I know so little of dwarven history. I would be thrilled to hear some of it as it is told among your own people.’

Varr was a quick thinker, Fíli noted. He found himself doing that more and more these days – marking important characteristics in people and putting them together later to try and see what made that person as they were.

‘I, too, would be happy to hear such a tale,’ Thranduil agreed with a regal smile. ‘Master Dwalin spoke passionately about the trials your people have suffered since Erebor fell but I will confess that I know little about what happened at the time.’

‘This story is not a happy one, I am afraid,’ Fíli said then, suddenly realising that it might not be the best tale to tell in front of the children. His expression must have betrayed his thoughts.

‘They will know much that is not happy in their lives,’ Bard answered on behalf of the parents in the room. ‘Shielding them from it will not protect them for long. Let us hear your story.’

‘This is the story of the dwarf Mavol,’ Fíli began to recite, telling the tale exactly as it had been written, ‘who lived in Erebor in the days before the fall. May he be praised for his courage and generosity in dark times, which gave light to our people when it was needed most.

‘Mavol, son of Huvol, was a baker. His goods were beloved of those who lived in Erebor, for Mavol had a way with spices beyond that of any other baker. Though he was not rich Mavol lived in comfort. When times grew hard he was generous to his neighbours, letting those with the greatest need take the unsold bread from his stock at the end of each day. Mavol spent all of his days in the market, rising before the sun to begin his work and leaving only when the market began to close. He had never married and told his friends that he preferred to be out among people than at home alone. He had passed years and years in this fashion and continued undeterred by age.

‘On the day that calamity befell Erebor, Mavol had begun his work at the normal time. His shop was open for business and he was one of the first to hear the warning that a dragon was attacking our kingdom. Being a clever dwarf, Mavol immediately gathered all the bread that he had baked into sacks and when he fled the Mountain he brought these with him.’

There was a scoffing noise from the Master’s direction.

‘Trust a dwarf to look out for himself first,’ the man sneered, apparently unaware of the sheer level of hatred aimed towards him by those who were championing the dwarves. Fíli ignored the comment, deep into his tale and seeing, once again, the scenes he had imagined so many times. Most of his audience were also rapt, engrossed in the story.

‘Mavol was among the first of those to escape Erebor,’ Fíli continued. ‘He waited not far from the front gate, looking for those of his friends who might come that way. He, along with many others, knew the grief of waiting for loved ones who would never come to him again in this world. After many bitter tears had been shed, Mavol joined the exodus of our people.

‘Mavol was not one to stand by while others suffered, however. When it became clear that no help would come to our people on that day, or on any day to come, Mavol found those of his friends whom he knew to be brave and generous also. The evening after Smaug’s coming they spoke long into the night and when the morning dawned they came to Dílna, wife of Thrain, with their offer.

‘Mavol still had almost all of the bread he had rescued from his shop. Between them, his friends had also collected enough food to feed a number of families for some days. They brought this to the Princess and said this:

“We offer this food to you for the good of our people. Use it to feed the children who go hungry while we journey, so that they might continue to thrive.”

‘Dílna gave them her gratitude for their generosity and asked them to give her what food they could spare so that she might split it amongst those with the greatest need. That is when Dílna realised the true courage of the dwarves before her. They handed her all that they had. When she protested that they, too, would need to eat she was gainsayed.

“We are old and nearing the end of our time,” Mavol told her. “It is not for us to take food from those who are young and have many years ahead of them. Let the children have it. We will journey no further.”

‘Even Dílna’s protests could not sway them from their chosen path. When the dwarves moved on the next morning, despite her pleas, Mavol and his friends remained behind. What became of them we do not know. They have passed out of this world and into memory and it is to memory I commend them. Remember them, people of Erebor, for they are your heroes. They gave their lives that we might live and so we honour them. When, in days to come, there are dwarves in Erebor once more, their names will be given to the stone that they should never be forgotten. Mavol, Galgin, Davil, Ruon, Rula, Mera, Nalir. I, Dílna, wife of Thrain, Princess of Erebor, swear that you will be known to all who come after you.’

For the first time in many years, Fíli felt the tears making tracks down his cheeks as he finished the story. To tell it like this, aloud as it was meant to be told, affected him more strongly than he had expected. Swiping at his cheeks with his hand, Fíli had no idea of the picture he had presented to the Men of Esgaroth. A dwarven prince in truth, regal, resolute and grieving for the loss of his people. He could not know, either, of the shame that Bard felt for what he had said to the Company previously and for the bargain he had struck. Fíli knew only that he was sad as he had not been in years and that he wanted his brother with him fiercely.

Thranduil, looking at the Master, decided to make sure the cut was deep and apparent to all in the room.

‘Perhaps you would now share your own people’s tales with us, Master of Esgaroth,’ he suggested.

‘I…,’ the Master stuttered, ‘I do not think that is a good idea. It would not do to upset the children further.’

Certain that his point had been taken, and aware that some of the children _had_ been upset by Fíli’s recital, Thranduil decided that the time had come to bring an end to the whole episode.

‘Of course,’ the King acceded. ‘In that case I suggest that we all retire for the evening, ladies and gentleman. I am sure many of you are still recovering from your journey and I would not like to keep you from your beds.’

Those assembled were not, for the most part, stupid people. They gathered their spouses and families and left the room with as much haste as was polite. Many of them, however, paused to thank Fíli for his tale and to express sympathy for his people’s loss. Fíli thanked them for their words and, despite his very real grief, knew that he had done good work this night. His mother would be proud.

««««««

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know, I'm evil - sorry! Poor Fili has been waiting to tell this story for a long while though and I wanted it to be before we got to the major dragon scene. Next chapter, I promise :)


	24. A Wing and a Prayer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is, after all, still a dragon to try and kill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go - the part I have been dreading since I began writing this mammoth. Read away, see what you think and, if you are feeling particularly kind today, let me know :D

Chapter Twenty-Four: A Wing and a Prayer

The challenge of convincing Esgaroth’s citizens to take up arms practice was one that Fíli mulled over all that night. By the next morning he still felt no closer to finding an answer. He was pleased to see that several other young folk joined the training session in the morning and he gave them as much attention as he could. Thankfully those elves who chose to practise that morning quickly took an interest in the young ones as well and moved to help him. Bard gathered the prospective archers up and moved them to one corner so that the rest of the room was in less danger.

While they were obviously still very new to their training, and Mahal knew some of them were too young to be on a battlefield for years to come, Fíli was impressed by their determination to succeed. Unfortunately very few of those who had gathered would be of any use in the battle that Fíli was sure was coming.

After spending most of the day moving from one pupil to the next, including some hours spent with Sigrid and Tilda until they could use all of the tactics that Bifur had taught them, Fíli was exhausted. He was also extremely thankful for all of the time he had spent training Bilbo. This was harder than it looked.

Bard had apparently not had the same problems. The man seemed almost chipper by the end of the afternoon. Fíli decided that now was as good a time as any to get some help from Bard, before his dour personality reasserted itself.

‘If I was trying to get the rest of the men of your town to train for battle,’ Fíli asked Bard bluntly as he joined him in leaving the room, ‘how would I go about it?’

‘Why would you be trying to get the men of Esgaroth to train for battle?’ Bard queried in return. ‘I thought that the whole point of this plan of your uncle’s was to keep us _out_ of danger.’

‘It is,’ Fíli responded. ‘You know as well as I do that people cannot escape all danger, though. That is why you want the girls trained.’

‘Somehow I doubt that this is just a general idea,’ Bard stated. ‘Tell me why it is you want this done and I will see if I can help you.’

‘Perhaps we had best not have the conversation in the corridor, then,’ Fíli proposed.

‘How much, exactly, does King Thranduil have to do with this plan?’ Bard asked then. His voice was not exactly suspicious but he seemed wary at least.

‘I feel like I should remind you, Master Bard, that you said yesterday you would not immediately reject plans just because they came from dwarves,’ Fíli answered pointedly.

‘So I did,’ Bard acknowledged. ‘In this case I did not mean it to appear that I was rejecting the plan. I simply wondered if it would be better to speak to Thranduil as well.’

‘It could not hurt, I suppose,’ Fíli responded. He felt better for hearing Bard say that. ‘Why don’t we go and find him and then we can all talk.’

«««

Thranduil was in conference with his steward when Fíli and Bard found him, although he brought the meeting to a swift end when he realised that he was wanted.

‘You would speak with me?’ Thranduil asked Fíli as his steward moved away.

‘If you can spare the time,’ Fíli responded, trying not to seem too demanding.

‘One of the joys of a kingdom of immortal beings, Master Fíli, is that very little requires my immediate attention on a daily basis. My household has the running of the Woodland Realm entirely in hand. Come, let us find somewhere we can talk.’

They went to the royal wing but Thranduil did not take them into his rooms as he had done when Thorin and he spoke. Apparently Thranduil was not willing to let Bard into his inner sanctum.

‘Tell me then, Master Fíli, why is it that the men of Esgaroth will need to know how to fight?’ Bard asked.

‘There have been growing numbers of orcs seen in the lands near Ered Luin,’ Fíli told him. ‘As we travelled it became obvious that they were also gathering their strength elsewhere and shortly after we arrived in the Woodland Realm it was attacked by a very large group. My uncle was concerned that the attack was not the end. Gandalf the wizard had travelled back to Dol Guldur to follow rumours of evil forces inhabiting the tower there. He has not yet returned, even though we had looked to see him before we left for Erebor. I believe that reinforces our concerns. Gandalf is not an easy person to keep away from business he has involved himself in.’

‘You agree with their speculations?’ Bard questioned Thranduil.

‘I do,’ Thranduil answered without hesitation. ‘Never in all my years have I known orcs to attack the heart of my realm. If they are so bold, _I_ would say it is because they know that something stirs which will help them to achieve their aims. Certainly, as you pointed out, the Woodland Realm has had to deal with greater and greater evil as the years have gone by. All of that evil seems to be centred in Dol Guldur.’

Bard contemplated these revelations for long moments before coming to his conclusion.

‘Better we are safe than sorry,’ he announced. ‘I cannot see how training for a battle that does not come can hurt. Being unprepared for battle would be far worse. The problem will be convincing others. Many will think it a waste of time.’

‘That is what I thought,’ Fíli said worriedly. ‘Uncle suggested asking Master Varr and Master Nairn for their aid. Would they help, do you think?’

‘Varr would certainly help,’ Bard replied, clearly thinking aloud. ‘Nairn might well... and asking him would be a good thought. He is known among the common folk for his wisdom and he also has one of the sharpest tongues in Lake-town. He might well be able to goad people into training if he can convince them no other way.’

‘Pride is a powerful motivation,’ Thranduil added. ‘I have seen more than one young warrior train harder than ever before after Tauriel made it clear how easily she could best them.’

‘Aye,’ Bard agreed. ‘You saw how many young ones were at the training grounds this morning, Master Fíli. That was thanks to my youngest, who crowed loudly about her training and how she was going to be able to defeat a prince once she was done. The young lads did not like that one bit.’

‘Would you talk to the other two for us?’ Fíli asked Bard. ‘If they could begin to spread the word somehow...’

‘We will do our best,’ Bard assured him, rising to leave. ‘You will see if it worked come morning.’

«««

Bard and his co-conspirators had done a wonderful job, Fíli thought as he gazed about the training room the next morning. It seemed as if half of the men in Esgaroth had appeared ready to train. Thankfully Thranduil’s greater years had given him a better head for planning. They were met by every guard Thranduil could spare, ready and prepared to split them into smaller groups according to weapon of preference and level of skill.

‘How in Mahal’s name did you manage it?’ Fíli asked Bard, Varr and Nairn in wonder. He had been introduced to the latter when he entered the room with Bard early that morning. ‘I did not expect half so many!’

‘Easier than you’d think, lad,’ Nairn told him sagaciously. ‘All we had to do was let the topic of the lads’ lessons come up at dinner. Then I talked much about how training in Lake-town was far below what it was in my day and how much trouble we would be in if there was an attack. Some braggard announced that no puny orc would best him, a few more got involved, I made my disbelief obvious and then the next thing you know, here we are!’

Here meant a number of men who had never had any more than the most cursory experience of fighting trying to best their elven opponents and failing miserably. Thankfully the people of Esgaroth were a hardy bunch overall. Rather than giving up and walking away, most began to listen closely to what they were being told by the elves.

‘It may also have much to do with boredom,’ Varr pointed out fairly. ‘Most of these men work hard for their living, as do their wives. To be so completely without work to do feels… unnerving, shall we say. I have the constant feeling that there is something I should be doing that I am leaving incomplete. Perhaps they liked the idea of a distraction.’

That might explain the women who had also joined the training session, Fíli noted. Sigrid and Tilda had been accompanied by Mistress Halma, who had brought with her a number of women who were paying close attention to one of the female guards. She seemed to be demonstrating how to get away from a larger attacker and Fíli was relieved to see it. He still could not believe that Men frowned on the idea of a woman learning how to protect herself. His mother would have been horrified.

Overall it was a far better start than Fíli had hoped for. As long as the people of Esgaroth’s interest in their training did not flag as the days went by, they might not be quite so defenceless when the orcs arrived. Fíli would still rather that they did not take the field at all, if they were only to have a few weeks to refresh their training, but life was rarely perfect.

«««

‘Where are you, thief?’ Smaug called again and Bilbo wished fervently that he would wake up to find this all a truly horrible dream. Yet, given that he could feel the ring digging into his finger where his hands were clenched, it seemed unlikely.

Bilbo’s plans had changed the second he realised that Smaug was already awake. There would be no sneaking up on the dragon if he was not asleep. He knew Bilbo was there even if he was invisible, no doubt he would be able to sense the movement of the air or hear Bilbo’s breaths or even maybe his footsteps. All Bilbo could do now was follow Thorin’s advice – he needed to get out of the Mountain.

Taking a few steps backwards, Bilbo tried to gauge how much Smaug could sense of his environment. It was possible that the dragon would be slower if he had only recently awakened from a very long sleep but Bilbo did not care to wage his life upon it.

‘You are not any race I have smelt before, thief,’ Smaug continued. ‘Certainly you are no dwarf. I feasted on the dwarves that lived in this mountain, mistakenly thinking that they could own my treasure, and you do not have their bitter scent. Nor are you a man. I have gorged upon their kind as well in my time and know their scent well. _What are you_?’

Something far less fond of the sound of its own voice than you, Bilbo thought hysterically. He was determined not to make a sound though. No use making things easy on Smaug.

‘I wonder why I cannot see you, thief,’ Smaug pondered aloud. ‘I had not thought I could be surprised after all these years but you are certainly more interesting than any dwarf.’

I don’t want to be interesting, Bilbo screamed inside his head. Don’t pay attention to me, you stupid wyrm, just go back to sleep.

By this point Bilbo had managed to move far enough back that he was almost at the door. The way became slipperier as he went. As Smaug twisted his head from side to side, apparently trying to scent the air, gold slipped out from underneath Bilbo’s feet and he worried that he might fall. Then, blissfully, he felt solid floor beneath his feet.

‘Where are you?’ Smaug began to say again but that was the last Bilbo heard. Turning sharply he ran as fast as he possibly could, uncaring whether the dragon heard him or not. At the door he scrambled frantically to open it, hands shaking from the shock and feeling completely uncoordinated. Thankfully someone must have heard his attempts. Suddenly the door began to push inwards and Bilbo threw himself through the gap.

Arms caught him as he stumbled and he looked up to see Kíli looking down at him with concern clear on his face.

‘Bilbo, what happened? Are you okay? Mahal you’re shaking like a leaf!’ Kíli spoke so quickly that he barely paused for breath.

‘Let him breathe for a moment, Kíli,’ Dori instructed the younger dwarf, gently removing Bilbo from Kíli’s grip and guiding him to sit down.

‘Bilbo, are we in danger?’ Dori asked calmly, looking at Bilbo queryingly.

‘I... I don’t know, no, I don’t think so,’ Bilbo stuttered.

‘Then just try to calm down,’ Dori ordered him. ‘You can tell us what happened in a moment.'

The other dwarves had been nearby but not as close. Now they began to crowd round, all worried about their hobbit and also fearing what might have happened.

‘Bilbo does not think we are in any danger,’ Dori told them firmly. ‘Just leave the lad be for a minute.’

Bilbo was thankful for the easy acquiescence Dori received. His trembling was slowing now and his wits were coming back to him. He felt very much a fool for having run so quickly and for falling apart once he was outside. Where was all the courage he had gathered before he went in?

‘Everyone feels the same after their first battle, laddie,’ Dwalin assured him quietly.

‘But I didn’t even get as far as the battle,’ Bilbo said bitterly. ‘All it took was one open eye and I ran like a startled deer.’

‘He is awake then,’ Bilbo heard Thorin ask heavily.

‘He is,’ Bilbo replied, feeling as low as he ever had. ‘Thorin, I am so sorry. I tried to be quiet but I was barely even in there for a minute or two and suddenly he was awake.’

‘Well that was only to be expected, really,’ Balin told Bilbo comfortingly. ‘We always knew that creeping up on Smaug was a long shot, Bilbo. We’ll work something else out.’

‘What was even the point in my coming?’ Bilbo asked the world at large.

‘Oh, hush with that nonsense,’ Óin scolded him. ‘None of us could creep up on the dragon either. You might as well ask what the point of my coming was, when I might not even be able to hear Smaug coming up behind me. You did what you could, just like the rest of us.’

‘As for leaving when you realised Smaug was awake,’ Thorin added in the regal tone he never seemed to realise he was adopting, ‘was that not exactly what I asked you to do before we parted?’

‘Well, yes, I suppose so,’ Bilbo acknowledged unwillingly.

‘Then let us hear no more of that either,’ Thorin stated firmly. ‘Now we need to work out what we are going to do next.’

Movement caught Bilbo’s eye and he turned to see Kíli, Tauriel and Legolas scurrying towards them, if elves could be said to do anything so graceless as scurrying.

‘We might be able to help with that,’ Kíli announced and the others turned to hear him.

«««

Well, that was more interesting than anything that had happened since he had taken his gold from the dwarves, Smaug thought to himself. Curling back up under his hoard, he contemplated what he had smelt and heard. A tiny little thing, if the footfalls were anything to go by, and not amongst the bravest of the folk he had encountered over the years. The thief had hurtled out of the treasury before Smaug had even got round to trying to scorch him.

Such pathetic little creatures, Smaug decided smugly, all those who wanted what was not theirs. They snuck in here, thinking he could be defeated by their pointy little sticks and then ran without even taking the slightest coin.

It was a good thing, though. Dealing with thieves was so boring and there were much better things to do. The insignificant little thief had interrupted his nap. Time he got back to it.

Smaug burrowed under the pile of treasure he had acquired and closed his eyes once more.

«««

Smaug’s surprise some time later, when a party of dwarves came thundering into the treasury screaming battle cries, was beyond telling. One moment he had been sleeping contentedly, sure in his safety and his ownership of the Mountain. The next the pesky little rock-dwellers were disturbing his peace and trampling all over his back with their puny little feet.

It was to Smaug’s benefit that no more of his kind remained within the world. Had they been there to witness his response to this affront they would have driven him from their company.

He flailed.

Not a furious roar, not a gout of flame, but a flail. His tail went one way, his wings another and suddenly there were dwarves flying everywhere.

Smaug’s second reaction was a roar of fury, however. These pathetic little creatures were no more than specks on the glory of his existence and they would be dealt with swiftly and painfully.

Unfortunately for Smaug, the Company of Thorin Oakenshield had other plans.

«««

This was, hands down, the most ridiculous thing that Thorin had ever done. He could not even claim that he thought it would work because they had the element of surprise. He did not think it would work and he was doing it anyway. Although he might well have given his life just for the joy of watching Smaug react like a child placed in a bath for the first time.

Watching Glóin fly across the room and hit the floor hard Thorin was less thrilled about. He had little time to worry though. Smaug knew what was happening now and he was coming prepared for battle.

‘Forward!’ Thorin roared to the Company, though he need not really have done so. They knew the plan and they were good dwarves, all of them. They would follow it as best they could. Thorin himself had not stopped running since he entered the room. Sliding down Smaug’s neck and launching himself away from the dragon’s body just as he was about to be thrown forward, Thorin managed to hit the ground and roll back to his feet without too much trouble. He was going to pay for this stunt tomorrow, if he lived that long, but for now he did not feel the pain.

While other members of the Company hacked at whatever parts of Smaug they could reach, doing no more than further irritating the dragon, Thorin moved towards Smaug’s head.

‘Do you know me, worm?’ he shouted as loudly as he could. ‘Are you ready to give back the Mountain you have stolen?’

Smaug heard him, Thorin knew. The response was a tunnel of flame aimed at Thorin’s position. Thankfully the beast was still slightly off-kilter and Thorin was able to jump aside, though he felt the heat all the way through his coat and mail. Smaug’s attention won, Thorin ran as fast as he could towards the small door out of the treasury. They needed to get Smaug out of this room. Vast though it was, it would be all too easy for him to trample them in here.

This part of the quest Thorin remembered well enough. Through the small door that Smaug could not possibly follow them through, then on again and again and to the bridge. In this one thing the dwarves had the advantage. Smaug had likely not set foot outside the treasury, except to eat, since he had arrived. Even if he had, he could not fit through most of the passages. Not if he had lived a thousand years in Erebor would Smaug know it so well as Thorin.

So far all of the company were still with Thorin. Dwalin looked more than slightly singed in places and Óin had a slight limp but otherwise they were all in one piece.

‘Bilbo,’ Thorin hissed worriedly.

‘Here,’ Bilbo responded to Thorin’s great relief.

‘Good,’ Thorin said, ‘good. Very well, you all know what you need to do. I will see you when we are done.’

With that the Company poured out onto the bridge and ran for their lives.

«««

Being chased through Erebor by a dragon was not on Bofur’s list of entertaining pastimes. For a start Smaug clearly had no respect for Bofur’s hat, which he had nearly set fire to twice already. Thankfully, the arrogant dragon had no idea that he was not the most powerful being present in this area of the world. Bofur was going to teach him to rue that arrogance.

‘Where is he, darlin’?’ the miner murmured as he pressed his hand to the wall. Erebor was only too happy to tell him. She was no fonder of the dragon in her heart than the dwarves. The images Bofur and Bifur received from stone were hard to interpret, for mountains had no idea of room names or directions. To Erebor, Smaug was like a pain in a mortal body. Erebor could not just tell Bofur ‘there’ but she showed him as best she could.

‘Close,’ Bofur told Ori and Dori, who were travelling with him. ‘None of the others near him right now but he’s coming our way.’

‘Time to run then,’ Dori said resignedly. Bofur was more impressed with the dwarf now that they had reached Erebor than he had ever been during the rest of the journey. They had all respected Dori’s grief, they could not do otherwise, but the dwarf’s incessant fussing and attempts to coddle his brothers had seemed more like giving in to his grief than dealing with it. Since they had reached Erebor something seemed to have changed though. There had been no word of leaving Ori safely behind. No panic, no fussing. Just good, dwarven practicality.

‘Aye, I think so,’ Bofur agreed, just as Smaug came into view. ‘Now might be good!’

Catching Smaug’s attention was easy enough. Luckily Erebor was aware enough to understand the idea of heat and movement. She knew where Bofur needed to be and she had shown him the way clearly enough. As he ran, hearing the scrape of the dragon’s claws upon rock as he crawled after them, covering vast distances far more quickly than Bofur was comfortable with, Bofur could only hope that the others were also finding their way.

«««

‘It comes,’ Bifur told Thorin with great certainty, disgust clear in the signs. ‘Bofur brings it.’

That was good, Thorin thought. All at the forge as they had intended. The rest of the dwarves had split into the positions that Thorin had indicated, ready to cause as much confusion as they could. All they needed was a little more time. Just a few moments with Smaug as distracted as he could be.

Then Thorin did not need Bifur’s reassurance that the plan was working. Smaug’s snarling fury could be heard clearly as he approached.

‘Run, pathetic little dwarves! Run all you can. It will not save you. Nothing will save you!’ Smaug boomed as he approached. Another burst of fire followed soon after and Bofur, Dori and Ori threw themselves to the side just in time, hiding as the Company were behind the massive grate built near the outside of the forge. As the fire lit the furnace into a blaze, Thorin began to smile. This might just work after all.

«««

Moving until he was positioned far closer to Smaug than he was comfortable being, Bilbo was not so certain. They had drawn Smaug to the right place, sure enough, but the rest of the plan had just developed a horrible, terrible flaw.

Thorin had made it sound simple enough. Take Smaug by surprise and confuse him as far as possible. Keep him off guard so that he would not remember the invisible thief, only the troop of dwarves taunting him with their presence. Above all, draw him to the forge without letting him think of moving outside. For in the forge would be Smaug’s downfall – a downfall he would not have seen coming.

For not once, in his fury and bellowing, had Smaug mentioned the three archers who had snuck into the treasury once he was gone. He had not noticed them at all. Kíli, Tauriel and Legolas were all three in place, hidden in the high places that the forge provided, ready to take their shot. All it would take was one well-placed arrow and Smaug would be no more.

Except that there would be no well-placed arrow, Bilbo thought piteously. No wondrous shot to save them all from burning alive.

Bilbo had the cursed arrows.

He had completely forgotten, in all the excitement of planning, to pass them over to the archers.

So now here he crouched, inches away from the most dangerous creature he had ever encountered, frantically trying to work out what to do.

He could try to make it to Kíli or one of the others. That would likely have the greatest chance of success. It was too late now to pull off the quick defeat that the Company had been hoping for but there was still a chance that one of them could kill Smaug with the arrow.

Except that the rest of the Company did not know that Bilbo had the arrows. They might well think that the shot was there to be taken and might put themselves in harm’s way expecting a deliverance that never came. Equally Legolas, Tauriel and Kíli probably each thought that the other two had taken Bilbo’s arrows. If Bilbo did not get to them in time half the Company might die before Smaug was killed.

There was only one thing for it, Bilbo decided. He would have to do what he had been brought here to do. He would have to kill the dragon himself.

Rather than revealing himself at the exact moment calculated to keep Smaug off guard, Bilbo would have to stay as close to the dragon as he could and find the right position to stab Smaug through that chink in his armour. Bilbo had seen it earlier, high on the dragon’s chest but hopefully within reach if Bilbo could hit when Smaug was close to the ground.

Unfortunately, Smaug was not currently cooperating. Instead of staying close the ground he had reared up to lean upon the grate and snarl yet more threats at Thorin and the Company. At least he had not yet spotted the archers, Bilbo thought. That was something.

As Smaug slammed his way through the grate, prowling towards Thorin as threateningly as he could, Kíli made a shot that would make him famous throughout all the kingdoms of his people. His arrow flew straight and true, directly into Smaug’s eye. It was not big enough to truly blind the dragon but judging by the near wail that Smaug let out it was extremely painful. The dragon waved his head back and forth, as if he thought he could somehow shake the arrow loose. He had not even considered that there might be a second coming but Kíli had notched another arrow before the first hit and the second also found its mark. Now Smaug’s vision was hampered.

Lamentably his other senses were not. Instinctively the dragon released his greatest weapon straight at the pillar where Kíli still stood. Bilbo heard Thorin scream for his nephew as Kíli threw himself from his perch but could not see where or how Kíli landed. The flames had come so close that Bilbo could not see how Kíli could have escaped being burnt.

Beyond fury Smaug turned upon Thorin, drawn to him by the King’s horrified cry.

‘I will see you all burn,’ Smaug raged as he drew nearer but Ori was standing near the lever and his timing was perfect. The flood of water hit the dragon just as he was about to burn Thorin alive and only moments later Smaug was hit by the weight of over a tonne of falling rock. The dragon soon managed to get himself tangled in the baskets that had held the rocks, so angry that he did not seem to be thinking clearly.

Legolas took his shot next. He had somehow moved to the opposite side of the room from Kíli, though he had not been far from the dwarf originally. Bilbo did not want to think about how he had found his way there. He had seen Legolas climbing up a nearly sheer wall earlier to get into position and the sight had made him almost sick with vertigo. From his new position Legolas managed to hit Smaug in the other eye, as did Tauriel a moment later.

Now the dragon was not only tangled but mostly blinded, doing more harm than good as he clawed at his own eyes in his agony. Regrettably for Bilbo this made his position so precarious that he was nearly speared by the beast’s talons more than once.

Scrambling out of the way once more, Bilbo feared his chance would never come. Then, for one blessed moment, Smaug was still. He had collapsed half on his side and was panting hard enough to blow a poor hobbit halfway to the Woodland Realm, but it was the pause that Bilbo needed.

Careless now of his own safety, hardly even caring if Smaug could feel him, Bilbo ran forward and grabbed hold of the joint of Smaug’s wing. Pulling himself along the wing, closer and closer to Smaug’s chest, Bilbo worked one arrow loose from the sling on his back. Balancing unsteadily on the wing for a moment, Bilbo threw himself forward and caught hold of the edge of the gap in Smaug’s scales. Smaug made one attempt to pull himself upright again and Bilbo swung perilously, frantically trying to keep his hold. Then the dragon collapsed once more… and this time Bilbo felt his feet touch the floor. He did not know what had happened but it felt as if some of the fight had gone out of Smaug at last.

Swiftly, praying to any of the Valar who could hear that Smaug would not move now, Bilbo thrust the black arrow forward towards the hole in front of him. The arrow sank in some way but then it would go no further. Desperate, Bilbo threw himself at it again and again, forcing it forward a little, then a little more.

Bilbo’s respite was over though. Smaug might have been too distracted to notice a hobbit crawling across him but he had felt the stab wound clearly enough. The dragon roared loudly enough to shake the stone pillars around the edge of the room and threw himself forward.

What he intended to do Bilbo would never know, for the movement had been Smaug’s undoing. The arrow worked in that last little bit it needed and Smaug’s body finally gave out. All of his weight hit the ground at once and he was still.

««««««

 


	25. Integrity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of killing a dragon is difficult for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a lot of beta-ing from ISeeFire to be ready. Somehow she managed to make it more realistic and exactly as I wanted it at the same time, because she is amazing. Thank you to everyone who took the time to let me know what they thought about the last chapter. As some of you may have noticed, I am very glad to have got that out of the way and I appreciated seeing your thoughts on the result :)

Chapter Twenty-Five: Integrity

‘What are they doing?’ Mahal cried in horror as the dwarves stormed the treasury. ‘Has he completely lost his mind? That is a dragon, they cannot just run in and stab it with a sword.’

‘You were the one who decided to send Thorin Oakenshield to kill the dragon again, child,’ Eru pointed out patiently. ‘Unless there was a particular method you told him to use you can hardly blame Master Oakenshield for improvising.’

‘That is not _improvising_ ,’ Mahal argued. ‘That is attempted suicide!’

‘No one has died yet,’ Eru commented impassively, though he too was watching with interest. No matter how long he spent observing these works of his child’s hands, they never ceased to surprise him. He had been impressed with Thorin’s attempt to kill the dragon the first time he had gone on this quest and he was curious to see what the dwarf would try this time. It was certainly more fascinating than the argument Angelimir was having with his council in Dol Amroth or the feast that was being held in Rohan.

‘I do not think I can watch,’ Mahal exclaimed pathetically as Kíli fell from the pillar in the forge. Eru gave him a distinctly unimpressed look in response.

‘You do not get to turn from your people when times grow hard,’ Eru scolded and Mahal forced himself to look upon the scene once more. A minute later he was glad that he had. Bilbo’s manoeuvre along Smaug’s wing was terrifying but brilliant and Mahal leant forward as the hobbit drew closer to the weak spot in the dragon’s hide.

‘I really did a very good job with the little ones,’ Eru murmured with some satisfaction as Bilbo managed to shove the black arrow through the tough layer of skin under Smaug’s scales. Mahal ignored this comment, too busy rejoicing in the Company’s success as Smaug finally entered his death throes. Erebor belonged to the dwarves again. Now they just had to deal with the irksome orc and destroy that golden menace created by Mahal’s errant disciple and Middle Earth would be safe for some time.

Then, suddenly, Mahal went utterly still. He turned back to the scene and looked in vain for Bilbo, only to realise that his hobbit (and he would claim Bilbo as his no matter how many of his kin argued with him) had just been crushed under a dragon. No sign of Bilbo could be seen even though Mahal had no trouble looking past the ring's enchantments.

‘No!’ Mahal exclaimed involuntarily. ‘It is not fair. He has come all this way and been so brave. It cannot end here.’

‘There are many brave creatures in this world of ours,’ was Eru’s only reply. Mahal continued to stare for some time, though Eru no longer stood beside him.

 

«««

Smaug was dead.

For long moments Thorin stood there staring at the dragon, not quite able to believe it. So many years of grief and hardship and exile were over. The dwarves had their home again. Smaug was dead.

Only the hardship was not quite over.

Somewhere in this chamber his nephew had fallen so far that there was every possibility that it had killed him. Already Thorin could see Óin hurrying across the room to try and find Kíli, Glóin following close behind him.

Equally worrying, somewhere under the dragon lay Bilbo, unless Thorin was completely wrong about the cause of the dragon’s death throes. Thorin had managed to stab Smaug through his already wounded eye whilst the dragon was half-insensate on the ground but it clearly had not been the killing blow. Smaug had hauled himself upright some seconds later before suddenly collapsing once more. The only answer was Bilbo, but their hobbit was wearing the ring and Thorin’s frantic gaze could not see where he might be underneath the corpse.

The competing instincts paralysed him. As much as Thorin wanted to go and make sure that his nephew was whole and hale, he also wanted to find their burglar and check that he lived.

‘Legolas!’ Thorin heard Tauriel cry abruptly from across the room. ‘Kíli needs healing. Bring the supplies here.’

If he needed healing then he lived, Thorin realised with stunning relief. Legolas and Tauriel had both told Thorin before they left that Thranduil had insisted that they learn some healing before they were allowed out to fight. They would help Kíli. All would be well.

Competing impulses resolved, Thorin ran forward towards the dragon and began to search frantically for the place where Bilbo might lie. The chink in Smaug’s armour had been on the left of his chest, not so far from his neck. Bilbo must be near there somewhere. Smaug was so heavy he was virtually immovable but Thorin shoved at his neck anyway, trying to make enough room that he could crawl underneath to search.

One moment Thorin was struggling in vain with the weight of the dragon, the next it was shoved aside. Dori and Dwalin had joined him. Balin was not far behind them.

‘Thorin, stop,’ Balin commanded.

‘I can’t stop,’ Thorin snarled. ‘Bilbo is under here somewhere, Balin, we have to get to him!’ When Balin tried to step in front of him Thorin nearly shoved his friend out of the way. He had brought Bilbo all the way here, he and his wonderful plans for redoing what had been done, and there was every possibility that Bilbo was wounded (or dead, a treacherous voice whispered) under Smaug. Thorin had to get him out.

Then Dwalin had hold of him. Thorin fought to break free, not understanding in the slightest why his Company were suddenly so determined to stop him doing something so important, but he could not. Dwalin had always been the stronger of the two and Thorin could not break his grip.

‘Thorin, stop!’ Balin shouted this time. ‘Bifur knows where Bilbo is, let him through so that we can get Bilbo out.’

Thorin felt himself slump as understanding hit him. The Company weren’t trying to stop him, they were trying to help him. Dwalin hauled Thorin backwards and this time Thorin did not resist him. Then Bifur was sliding into the gap they had made and heading unerringly to one section of the floor where Smaug was not entirely flat.

Running his hands swiftly over the seemingly empty air, Bifur searched for a moment before lifting something in one hand and sliding his other hand along it. He paused briefly, then slid his hand away from his own body with his fingers held close together at the tips. Now, finally, Bilbo was visible once more. Bifur tucked the ring into a pocket that Dori had sewn into Bilbo’s coat before looking quickly at how Bilbo was lying. In Khuzdul he called for his cousins and Thorin was drawn further out of the way to let them through.

‘Better we let them deal with this,’ Dori told Thorin in a comforting tone that belied the difference in their ages. ‘They’ll know how to move him without hurting him further on the way out.’

Sure enough, after a minute or two had passed the family called to Dori, Dwalin, Thorin and Balin for help. Dori immediately called for his brothers as well. The strength he was famed for was more a family trait than most people realised. With much exertion of force they managed to shift Smaug out of the way and retrieve Bilbo without doing too much more damage.

With faultless timing, Legolas suddenly reappeared.

‘Kíli?’ Thorin asked him immediately, knowing how desperate he sounded and not caring enough to try controlling his tone.

‘Kíli was badly bruised in the fall and he has burns over much of his back and his legs from twisting to avoid the flames but he will be well in a week or two,’ Legolas reassured Thorin. ‘Tauriel and Óin have his wounds well enough in hand. They sent me back to see to Bilbo.’

Dwalin carried their burglar out of the close confines near Smaug’s body and laid him down with the greatest care. Worry lines were scored into the warrior’s face and his usual gruff reserve was entirely absent.

‘From the way he was lying half of his bones should have been broken,’ Dwalin told Legolas anxiously. ‘The poor lad was right under the beast when it fell and it should have landed right on top of him. Yet somehow it was only lying on his legs. They are broken but the rest of him seems nearly unharmed. I do not understand it.’

Legolas’ expression was also worried, which did not comfort Thorin in the slightest.

‘Can you help him?’ Thorin demanded fretfully, moving to rest his hand atop Bilbo’s head as if that would do anything to heal him.

‘I would give much for our true healers right now,’ Legolas muttered, though Thorin did not think it was in answer to his question. The prince’s eyes were focused on something far away as he copied Bifur’s earlier movements.

‘Legolas?’ Thorin questioned again, voice rising slightly at the end of the elf’s name. Legolas’ eyes snapped up to the King sharply and what Thorin saw there finally reassured him, if only a little.

‘We will not lose Bilbo,’ Legolas promised Thorin. ‘Dwalin is right. Through some miracle he has only broken legs and a lot of bruising. It should not be possible but….’ Legolas shook his head. ‘I am no true healer, perhaps there is something I am missing. I can set the bones so that they will be straight and begin the healing but I do not have enough power to heal him completely. He will need a trained healer for that.’

‘The ravens,’ Balin interjected. ‘We can send a raven to Fíli and he can pass the message to Thranduil.’

‘Come,’ Thorin said to Balin then, glad to have something useful to do at last. ‘We’ll see Kíli first and then go to Ravenhill.’

Thorin shot their hobbit one more worried glance before turning to leave. Balin followed him, as did Dwalin, and they hurried across the room to where Kíli lay. Thorin was astonished to see that his nephew was conscious, though it was very clear that Kíli would rather not be. He also seemed slightly dazed and confused.

‘Ow,’ was his first word upon seeing Thorin. ‘Uncle, it hurts.’ The archer who had just helped to kill a dragon sounded all of six years old and the pouting look on his face was virtually identical to that he had worn after he had ignored Dís’ warnings about the kitchen fire and burnt himself.

‘He knocked his head badly,’ Óin told Thorin with a smile on his face. ‘Mahal must love him, for that is the worst wound he took aside from the burns.’ These Tauriel was tending to, biting her lip to avoid laughing at Kíli’s expression. Thorin himself began to laugh, as did Balin and Dwalin behind him. It suddenly occurred to Thorin that they had slain the dragon without actually losing any of the Company. Hurt they might be but they had all avoided death.

At his uncle’s laughter Kíli’s expression grew even sulkier and Thorin forced himself to contain his mirth.

‘There now, akhûnith,’ Thorin said gently as he crouched next to Kíli. ‘I am not laughing at you, I am sure it hurts a great deal.’

‘I hit the dragon,’ Kíli told him proudly, as mercurial in his moods as he had ever been as a child. He was suddenly beaming with pride and Thorin let another chuckle slip.

‘So you did,’ Thorin replied, ‘and it was a shot to sing of. Ori will be able to write a great saga about Kíli, bane of Smaug, once when we are settled.’ Kíli beamed some more, then yawned abruptly. Thorin looked to Óin with a question in his eyes.

‘I see no reason why we can’t let the lad sleep,’ Óin answered him. ‘He might not be quite himself but he knows where we are and what has happened, so I am not too worried.’

‘Then we will leave you to sleep, akhûnith,’ Thorin told Kíli.

‘Alright,’ Kíli said agreeably, eyes fluttering shut. Then, suddenly, they opened again. ‘Uncle,’ Kíli murmured plaintively, ‘I want Fíli.’

It was a very good thing, Thorin realised, that Kíli had grown out of this ability to be utterly adorable before they retook Erebor. Thorin had been nearly incapable of denying him what he wanted when he was very young and Dís had mocked and castigated him for it in equal measure. Had he grown up as a Prince of Erebor, Kíli would have been hopelessly spoilt.

‘Then I will go to find the ravens and send one of them to fetch him,’ Thorin assured Kíli as his nephew’s eyes shut once more. Within moments Kíli was fast asleep.

‘We will never speak of this again,’ Thorin informed the other witnesses firmly and Tauriel finally lost her battle with her laughter.

‘He is very sweet,’ she told Thorin, still laughing.

‘And he would be mortified to hear you say so,’ Balin responded for Thorin. Tauriel sobered slightly.

‘I will hold my peace,’ she promised them. ‘He is not himself, I know.’

‘He was very much himself,’ Dwalin mumbled under his breath. ‘He always did know how to use that pout to get whatever he wanted.’ As often happened, the others ignored Dwalin completely. It was not as if Dwalin had ever been any better than the rest of them at resisting Kíli. Rising to his feet, Thorin gestured for Balin and Dwalin to follow him and set off to find the ravens.

«««

It did not occur to Thorin to wonder why Dwalin was muttering irritably under his breath as he followed Thorin until they had reached Ravenhill and were waiting for the ravens to condescend to pay attention to them. Dwalin groused as a way of life and Thorin had blocked out his commentary, as he normally did when Dwalin did not specifically aim it at him. A few moments later he wished he had not.

‘So,’ Dwalin asked brusquely as they sat down on the hill, ‘did we do any better this time?’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Thorin asked in return, not having the faintest idea what Dwalin was talking about.

‘Oh, do not give me that innocent act,’ Dwalin fumed. ‘Do you think I am a complete fool? The two of you have been hiding something for weeks. I knew _that_ without doubt but you were keeping it too close to the chest for me to figure out what it was. You slipped when we opened the door, though, Brother.’

Balin looked just as startled as Thorin felt. Dwalin had suspected them? How had he worked it out? _What_ had he worked out?

‘Do you know how _frustrating_ it is to have my brother and my closest friend constantly treating me as if I am stupid?’ Dwalin snarled then. ‘I expect it from everyone else but when the two of you begin to do it as well it is beyond enough. I am not an _idiot_ , Thorin!’

‘I never said that you were,’ Thorin replied in a shocked voice. ‘Dwalin where is all of this coming from?’

‘Was it like this before?’ Dwalin said then. ‘That is what Balin asked you when you opened the door into Erebor. You told him that it was indescribable now as it had been then. Which before? Which then? That is what I want to know.’

Balin cursed under his breath and Dwalin’s gaze flitted to his brother for a second before he looked at Thorin once more. Thorin felt like cursing himself. At this rate the whole Company would figure him out before they were done.

Thorin considered trying to lie, as he had once tried to step around the truth with Balin. In the end, it was Dwalin’s comments about his intelligence that stopped Thorin from doing so. He had always known that this was a sore spot for Dwalin. There were many in Ered Luin who overlooked him because Balin was the more obviously clever of the two. Thorin had never expected to be one of them and if Dwalin was angry enough to actually mention it then Thorin had slipped up badly. Mahal knew the two of them did not care to talk about such things normally.

‘We tell him everything,’ Thorin said to Balin. Balin nodded in reply. Dwalin only continued to treat them to a fulminating glare.

Then both turned to Dwalin and they began to tell their tale.

«««

In the end, Dwalin took the truth better than Balin had. The warrior was not one to overthink things. He looked at each of them in turn, gauging their honesty, then nodded firmly.

‘If there is a battle coming you had best send to Dain as well,’ were Dwalin’s first words. ‘Even if the elves Thranduil called for do arrive in time, there is no saying that they will be enough to balance out the loss of Dain’s forces. Tell him we have taken Erebor back and believe orcs are marching on us and he will come. He’ll want to protect the gold if nothing else.’

‘You never did like him,’ Balin said to his brother, though he did not seem to have a particular point to the comment.

‘For good reason apparently,’ Dwalin responded. ‘Dís was right. They’re happy enough to come once we have the treasure back. Just not while the dragon was in the Mountain.’

Thorin did not bother to argue with Dwalin. Perhaps he would find forgiving Dain easier once the other dwarf was before him. It had helped with Thranduil and, to a small extent, Bard. After watching the Man with his own people Thorin felt slightly less inclined to murder him.

By this time Roac had approached Thorin and was fluttering his wings in a haughty manner nearby.

‘If you wish a message taken you should stop gabbling on between yourselves and give it to me,’ the raven cawed irritably. ‘I do have other things to do with my time.’

Thorin and Balin remembered Roac from days gone by, when Carc had ruled the ravens of Ravenhill, and so ignored this snippiness.

‘I have three messages which must be taken,’ Thorin told the raven, vaguely noting Balin and Dwalin’s surprise at this statement.

‘First to Fíli, my nephew, who is currently in the Woodland Realm. Tell him that the dragon is dead and all of our Company alive, though his brother took a mild wound and would like to see him. Say that Bilbo is also injured and Legolas asks for a healer to see to him. Also, ask Fíli to invite Thranduil and Bard to Erebor so that we might discuss what steps to take next.’

Roac was curious enough at the news of Smaug’s demise and the message he was given that he merely bobbed his head in acknowledgement. He called loudly and two more ravens flew to join him, younger than Roac although one was nearly as big.

‘Your other messages,’ Roac commanded.

‘Second to Beorn, who lives outside Mirkwood. Tell him also that the dragon is dead and ask him if there is anything he would have of Erebor as thanks for his aid along the way.’

Seeing that the message was finished the smaller of the two ravens took wing and flew away towards Mirkwood at speed.

‘Third to Dain, Lord of the Iron Hills,’ Thorin dictated. ‘Tell him that Smaug has been killed and Erebor retaken. Inform him that I believe an orcish army is ready to march upon Erebor and that I would have his aid in defending our kingdom from the filth.’

The second of Roac’s ravens also took flight, although he sped off to the East, bound for Dain’s lands. Roac himself remained for a few seconds, contemplating the three dwarves myopically.

‘It is good that the dragon is dead,’ the raven declared then. ‘Food will be easier to find.’

This deep pronouncement made, Roac too left to deliver his message and the dwarves rose to return to Erebor.

«««

By the time they returned to the forge the sun had reached its highest point in the sky. They had fought, Thorin realised, into the night. Most of the morning had been spent in speaking to Dwalin and getting their messengers organised. Now Thorin was exhausted and more than ready to sleep. There was only so far even the energy of battle could carry him. Balin, too, was obviously drooping and even Dwalin did not seem quite as energetic as he had when they left Erebor.

The Company were mostly asleep when they returned. Legolas sat near the door, seemingly awake, but did not move or speak to Thorin when he entered, so likely he was asleep as well. Kíli and Bilbo had been moved into the centre of the room, although not near enough to the dragon to be able to smell him.

‘I wonder if a dragon makes good fertiliser,’ Thorin wondered aloud whimsically. ‘Perhaps we could offer Smaug to the Men, as long as they are willing to remove him.’

‘I hadn’t actually got that far in my planning, I must admit,’ Balin responded, viewing the dragon’s corpse with the jaundiced eyes of one whose task it would be to dispose of it. ‘Of course Smaug would manage to be as inconvenient in death as he was in life.’

‘I think you should both shut up and get some sleep,’ Dwalin suggested as he returned from checking quickly on the patients. ‘Kíli looks much better than he did earlier and Bilbo is sleeping easily enough. Óin must have given them something for the pain. There is no need now for any of us to be awake.’

Thorin was only too happy to take this advice. Lethargy was now dragging at his limbs and his thoughts were growing muddled. The forges were still burning from Smaug’s flames and the room was pleasantly warmed by the heat. Thorin laid his head upon the rolled up coat and he slept. For the first time in far too long dwarves resided in Erebor once more. Well, dwarves, two elves and a hobbit. Erebor was not concerned about the additions though. They had rid her of the parasite in her midst and she was content.

«««

Thorin slept all of that afternoon and through the night, waking early the next morning. By the time that he arose most of the Company were already up and moving. Bombur had a fire going and was cooking breakfast. One side of their cook’s face was mottled with bruising and two of his fingers were bound together but he seemed otherwise unharmed. In fact, Bombur was humming happily to himself as he cooked.

The others appeared to be engaged in three main pursuits – tending to the wounded, being tended to or entertaining Kíli and Bilbo. Both Bilbo and Kíli were a fine sight. Their many bruises were every shade between midnight black and bilious yellow and they were both lying flat, though Kíli was on his front to avoid his burns and Bilbo on his back. Thankfully neither seemed to be without their wits.

Thorin moved to rise so that he could reassure himself of everyone’s health personally but got stuck halfway up. He had completely forgotten about the force with which he had hit the floor while sliding off Smaug’s back, as well as overlooking several other minor injuries he had taken during the course of the battle. Now his neck had seized up and he could not turn his head to one side without shooting pains travelling from his shoulder to his nape. The very base of his neck had been burned on the other side, apparently when he had tried to avoid Smaug’s initial assault. Worst of all his back and his legs had tightened to the point of agony and would not allow Thorin to move out of the half-crouch he found himself in.

Hence, rather than greeting his first morning as ruler of Erebor with majestic grace, Thorin gasped with pain and stooped awkwardly. Almost every head turned to him immediately and Dwalin and Gloin began to laugh so hard that the latter turned a shade of puce which clashed horribly with his hair.

‘Oh, Thorin, you poor thing!’ Bilbo called with greater sympathy, despite being far more damaged than the King. Their hobbit sounded slightly hazy and Thorin decided that the numbing potion Óin was giving him was more than doing its job. ‘Why did you not get your injuries seen to last night?’

‘I did not realise I was injured until just now,’ Thorin said through teeth gritted against the pain. ‘Besides, everyone was asleep when we got back.’

‘You ought to have woken me,’ Legolas scolded mildly. ‘I waited by the door so that I could check on the three of you when you returned but I must have fallen asleep. I am sorry.’

Legolas moved over to Thorin as he spoke and placed one hand lightly upon the base of Thorin’s spine, carefully moving his clothes aside to reach the skin. Thorin felt a cool sensation build and then spread, a moment of pure agony that had him biting back a scream and then, finally, a blissful lack of pain as all of his muscles unlocked. Legolas helped him to rise and looked Thorin over carefully.

‘I will not heal any more of what ails you,’ Legolas told him regretfully. ‘I have not the resources of others of my kind and it takes much energy for little benefit. Óin’s salves will do as much good as Tauriel and I could when we have already expended so much energy.’

‘Had you not healed me now I might have spent all day stuck there whilst Dwalin cackled,’ Thorin told him gratefully. ‘I can deal with some minor burns and aching muscles. This is hardly the first battle I have fought, I will be fine.’

‘First major battle since you started to get so old, though,’ Glóin shouted from his place, safely behind Kíli where Thorin could not revenge himself without risking hurting his nephew. In any event he did not have to. Bombur calmly removed a clean wooden spoon from his pack and rapped Glóin sharply over the head from behind. When Glóin turned to Bombur in outrage the cook was not abashed at all.

‘Those old enough to have children of their own should know better than to laugh at another’s pain,’ he told the blustering Glóin firmly.

‘Especially those who had to be healed themselves not three hours ago,’ Legolas added forbiddingly. At this Glóin did look somewhat sheepish. ‘Tauriel could easily have left you as you were and then Thorin could have laughed himself sick at you instead.’

Bilbo interrupted the discussion at this point by squeaking slightly as he tried to sit up. Instantly Dori was beside their hobbit, guiding him up gently and calling to Ori to fetch their cloaks so that they could use them to support Bilbo’s back. Óin moved over to Thorin with a salve he had retrieved from his own pack.

‘Thank Mahal the elven healers were so free with their help and their resources,’ Óin told Thorin as he coated the burns Thorin directed him to. ‘Had we come with only my own burn salve there would never have been enough for all of you.’

‘We have much to thank the elves for,’ Thorin opined quietly and Óin murmured an agreement. Only chance allowed Thorin to see the healer reach towards his bad ear before dropping his hand again sharply. It suddenly occurred to Thorin that, for all of Óin’s comments to Bilbo about his hearing, he had not seen the other dwarf use his ear trumpet in some time.

‘They healed your deafness?’ he asked Óin quietly.

‘Some,’ Óin told him, even closer to a whisper. ‘It is not perfect but it is a great deal better. I want no mention made of it, though. I asked them if there was aught that they could do for Bifur and was told there was not. His injuries are far more delicate than my own and they feared doing more harm than good. I… well, I would rather not rejoice over my healing when he can never have his own.’

‘Bifur would not begrudge it you,’ Thorin replied, though he took care not raise his voice.

‘No, I know he would not,’ Óin agreed. ‘It still is not fair, though.’ Óin looked ready to say more but Bombur called them to breakfast and the subject was dropped.

«««

After breakfast the conversation turned quickly to what steps needed to be taken to shore up Erebor’s defences and make the Mountain habitable once more. One of Thorin’s greatest worries lay in the pillars and supports that Smaug had smashed through, both when he originally entered Erebor and as he stormed through the Mountain in search of the dwarves.

‘If those supports start to come loose we could end up with half the Mountain on top of our heads,’ Thorin mentioned to the others in concern and a number of the Company began to look equally worried. Collapses were not unknown to the dwarves of Ered Luin and each one brought most of the settlement to a halt as they all worked to rescue those stuck inside. They did not always succeed.

‘Bifur and I can look for the most dangerous areas,’ Bofur announced. ‘Your lady will tell us where the supports seem weakest, as far as she can. Bifur’s better at pinning down locations than I am but I’ll be able to tell you how unsteady the areas are once we find them.’

‘That will need to be your role then,’ Balin ordered. ‘Mark the areas as clearly as you can so we know to avoid them. I don’t imagine we’ll be able to shore them up properly until we have more of our people here to help but at least we’ll know where not to go.’ The cousins nodded their agreement.

‘I’ll need to find the weapon stores,’ Dwalin told his brother. ‘If we do have trouble coming, and I think the lads are right about that,’ he added, being careful to give nothing that he had been told away, ‘then the higher quality of arms we have the better.’

‘Take Ori with you,’ Balin told him. ‘If the doors have warped with age you might only be able to open them so far and Ori will fit through far more easily than you.’ Ori seemed happy to be useful and to work with Dwalin, whom he still viewed with a certain amount of hero worship despite long exposure to Dwalin’s grumping. Nori looked less amused, but Thorin was sure that by now most of Nori’s antipathy for Dwalin was for show.

After that the task of splitting up the Company went swiftly. Legolas and Tauriel agreed to keep watch outside of Erebor and to alert the dwarves if anyone or anything seemed to be approaching. They would also hunt if there was any game to be found, for the Company’s stores would not last forever and Thorin had forgotten to ask Fíli to bring more with him.

Dori and Bombur had the task of looking around the old kitchens and starting to get them cleaned up. If Thorin was going to bring his people back to Erebor being able to prepare enough food for all of them would be important and the royal kitchens were the largest in Erebor. Glóin and Nori would move through the residential areas of Erebor, searching for anything that could still be useful to the Company and beginning to clear out the old noble houses so that they would have some accommodations available if they were needed.

For himself and Balin Thorin reserved the least pleasant task. They would go first to the Western Guardroom and begin to bring their dead outside Erebor ready to be laid upon a pyre. Thorin had no doubt that they would find bodies in any number of places that they did not expect in the weeks and months to come but best he start with those he knew the location of.

Bilbo and Kíli, unfortunately, would have to stay in the forge for now. Their healing was far from complete and Thorin did not want to risk any further damage being done. Mahal forbid Fíli should arrive to find his brother and their hobbit in a worse state than they already were. Óin agreed to stay with them so that he could continue to oversee their recovery. Kíli protested being left behind half-heartedly but his eyes were already heavy and Thorin knew that it would not be long before his nephew slept once more. Bilbo did not even have the energy to protest. He was asleep before the conversation was over. Not that there would have been much point to Bilbo arguing – he would not be going anywhere until the elven healers had arrived to do more for his legs.

All of them were forbidden from entering the treasury. Thorin did not want to take any risks with the gold-sickness and decided that the easiest way was to keep them away from the gold as much as possible. The Arkenstone might be his own personal nemesis but the rest of the treasure could be just as dangerous. As Bofur had once told the Company, precious metals and gems were in the blood of their people.

«««

The next few days were gruelling. Thorin and Balin had spent much of the first day simply sat in the Western Guardroom, unable to begin moving the corpses as they were overcome by grief. Together they had sat recalling happier times and crying for those lost. Between them they could identify only seven of the bodies that they had found, which was not so surprising really considering how many dwarves had resided in Erebor.

Even so, Thorin felt terribly guilty. He ought to know them, these dwarves who had suffered for his family’s greed. Once, when Balin had left the guardroom cradling the bones of a young woman in his arms, Thorin had found himself whispering to the air despite knowing there was no one to hear him.

‘I am so sorry,’ he murmured to his people’s spirits, wherever they had gone. ‘We should have guarded you better. It should never have come to this. It will never do so again, I promise you. The dragon is dead and I will let no more harm touch those who survived him.’

There was no reply, of course. Thorin had never expected one. By the time Balin realised Thorin was not directly behind him, Thorin had already gathered up another body to carry down to the pyre.

Thankfully the rest of the Company seemed to have less trouble in their endeavours, though Bofur was extremely worried about one section of loosened rock and insisted that none of the Company were to enter that area at all. They were glad of his caution on their third day in the Mountain when a thunderous rumble echoed through Erebor’s lower halls. Thorin and Balin had just re-entered through the front gate and rushed to see what had happened. They were met by Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Dori, Dwalin and Ori, all of whom had been drawn to that section of Erebor by the noise.

‘Mahal’s beard,’ Dwalin puffed, having run at full speed from the main armoury, ‘what happened?’

‘Rock gave way,’ Bofur informed him as he climbed precariously up the pile of rubble that now blocked one of the entrances to the system of bridges that criss-crossed Erebor. ‘Smaug had taken out the main support column, it was only a matter of time.’

‘Bofur,’ Thorin said warningly, not liking the slight movements disturbing the pile as Bofur clambered up.

‘It’s alright,’ Bofur responded with a complete lack of concern, ‘the base is sturdy enough.’

The base did not _look_ sturdy enough and Dori and Balin seemed to feel the same.

‘Down you come, lad,’ Balin commanded sternly. ‘You can risk your neck when you have plenty of other dwarves here to help you work out how to clear this mess.’

Bofur rolled his eyes slightly but made his way further down and then jumped to the floor.

‘I’m surprised the others didn’t hear it come down,’ Dori said absently, still eyeing the rubble warily, ‘though I suppose there is not much Bilbo and Kíli could have done about it even if they did hear.’ The two of them were still forbidden from moving too far, though they had been moved out of the forge now. Smaug’s corpse smelt worse and worse as the days went by.

‘We wouldn’t have if we hadn’t been coming down for lunch anyway,’ Ori told him. ‘The noise was quite faint as it was but the floor shook a little so we were worried. If Nori and Glóin have made it further up they might not have heard it at all and Óin would have stayed with Bilbo and Kíli.’

‘Lunch sounds like a good idea to me,’ Dwalin added with a complete lack of subtlety which made Balin roll his eyes.

‘Lunch always sounds good to you, bottomless pit that you are,’ Balin told his brother. ‘Come on then, let’s get you fed. You're right in one thing, there's no more we can do here.’

As it was they all ate together most days, though Nori and Glóin often chose not to join them for lunch, saying that the walk all the way down and then back up again took too long to be worth it. Slowly but surely the Company were making progress in turning Erebor into a home once more. Dwalin and Ori completed their survey of the weapons after the first few of days and joined Dori and Bombur in the mammoth task of getting the kitchens useable again.

Not too many days later they were all summoned to the front gate by Tauriel and Legolas. The Elves of the Woodland Realm and the Men of Esgaroth had been sighted. Erebor was about to receive the first delegations of its allies.

««««««


	26. Give and Take

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The powers of the East gather at Erebor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you muchly to all commenters and kudos leavers. Your feedback is much appreciated :)

Chapter Twenty-Six: Give and Take

Thranduil was at the head of the party, and as he arrived Thorin and the others moved forward to meet him. The Elven King’s eyes had been scanning the entrance as he approached. As soon as he stopped he dismounted, and Legolas walked over to receive the hug that Thranduil was waiting to give. They spoke quietly in their own language for a moment before releasing one another. Thranduil quickly took in Tauriel’s appearance, seemingly checking for injuries, then nodded.

‘I am glad to see you all well, Thorin,’ he said clearly. ‘You have done us a great service.’

‘We are glad to be well,’ Thorin responded. ‘Though I will be more so once Kíli and Bilbo are fully healed.’

‘Of course. If someone can show Malial where to go then he will see to them for you.’

Oin stepped forward and the tall red-headed elf Thorin remembered as his own healer joined him. As soon as he was in earshot Oin began to explain the situation to him and it was clear that the two had spoken often whilst Thorin’s Company remained at Thranduil’s Halls.

While Thranduil and Thorin had been exchanging words, the Company had been overrun by various human children. Bifur, unsurprisingly, had Tilda attached to him and was patiently allowing her to squeeze the life out of him. Sigrid was with Bofur and Dori, demanding to know if everyone else was alright. Bain had gone straight to Balin and Dwalin, instantly demanding an account of the battle with the dragon and how they had killed him. Legolas had all three of Varr Draper’s boys about him, the youngest and eldest giving him a running commentary on the training they had had whilst he was away.

Thorin shook his head, laughing at the chaos before turning back to Thranduil.

‘Anyone would think that they had missed us,’ Thorin joked and Thranduil was not the only one who laughed. Thorin was startled to realise that the lower voice was Bard’s.

‘I can’t imagine how you came to that conclusion,’ Bard said dryly, though he did not seem at all bothered. Thorin decided that he needed to talk to Fíli and find out what the lad had been up to in his absence. Which reminded him....

‘He sneaked past me, didn’t he?’ Thorin asked Thranduil resignedly. Nephews! More trouble than they were worth.

‘In Fíli’s defence, it was a truly masterful manoeuvre,’ Thranduil answered, not even trying to disguise his amusement. ‘I thought for sure you would spot him but he actually blended in with the children very well.’

‘I will refrain from making the obvious comment,’ Balin muttered as he joined them, having apparently escaped from Bain’s curiosity for the meantime. Thorin merely sighed.

‘I assume, then,’ Thorin said to Thranduil, ‘that he came to no harm while I was away.’

‘Not the slightest bit,’ Thranduil reassured him. ‘In fact, Fíli has been most industrious in your absence. You would be proud of him.’

‘Doubtless I will be, once I manage to detach him from his brother.’

At this point the rest of the delegation of Men seemed to grow restless. The Master spurred his borrowed horse forwards so that he could not be ignored further.

‘I assume you have proof that the dragon is in fact dead,’ were his first words, the tone of them instantly getting Thorin’s back up.

‘If our continued existence is not enough for you, Master of Lake-town,’ he replied with very little patience, ‘then there is a dragon corpse cluttering up my main forge that you are welcome to come and view. Though I will warn you now that decomposing dragon is not a pleasant smell in the slightest.’

‘One can only imagine,’ Thranduil interjected with a wince, as he apparently did just that. ‘I don’t believe that we will need to go so far, however.’ The Elven King made it clear he was speaking for everyone and the Master clearly did not feel brave enough to disagree with him.

‘Are there any among your people with a particular interest in farming?’ Balin asked Bard, completely ignoring the Master in an extremely unusual display of rudeness. ‘We have a dragon I’d very much like to dispose of if your people think it would make a good fertiliser.’

Bard laughed a second time and Thorin wondered again what had come over the man. If Bard were not careful he would begin to get a reputation for being cheerful.

‘Given the state that Smaug placed these lands into, Master Balin,’ Bard responded, ‘I somehow doubt that he will be of much use to us.’

‘Oh, curse it,’ Balin said irritably. ‘I had not thought of that. Now what are we going to do with the stupid beast?’

‘Why don’t you let me have a look at him, Master Balin?’ said another man, twenty or so years older than Bard by Thorin’s guess. ‘What this one knows about farming wouldn’t fill a thimble.’

Clearly the two men were friends for Bard took no offence at this statement. He made a sweeping gesture with his hand to indicate that the older man should go ahead if he wished and Balin began escorting his expert to the Mountain.

‘Well,’ Thorin said after a moment, ‘as everyone appears to be abandoning us anyway, I suggest that we leave the official business for tomorrow. You have travelled far and I would not care to leave my nephews or Bilbo out of the discussions.’

‘I suspect that would be wise,’ Thranduil agreed, eyeing general disorder among the Company and their guests. ‘We will set up camp out here, of course.’

‘Surely there is room enough indoors,’ the Master objected. Thorin resisted the urge to roll his eyes in despair.

‘I do not think your people would care for Erebor’s current state, Master,’ he ground out. ‘It is over a hundred years since the Mountain was last inhabited by anything but a dragon and conditions are hardly comfortable.’ Not to mention that Thorin was sure the man only wished to get a good look at the treasury.

‘We are not so fussy as all that,’ another man argued, one Thorin vaguely recognised from the journey to the Woodland Realm. ‘Certainly accommodation indoors would be preferable to... camping.’ The last he said as if it were a sordid concept. Thorin decided he had already had quite enough of these people trying to worm their way into his kingdom. Let them have the bare truth then.

‘Quite honestly,’ Thorin told him bluntly, ‘we have not yet even come close to finding all of those who were trapped in the Mountain when Smaug came. Should you come inside you might well find yourself sharing room with the corpses of my people.’

Both men looked vaguely ill at his announcement but Thorin was not in the slightest bit sorry.

‘I do not think that will be necessary,’ Mistress Halma put in now, giving her companions a very firm look. Thorin gave her a small smile, extremely glad to find that she was a member of the party. ‘King Thranduil has been most kind in providing supplies for us and the weather is good. We will be perfectly fine out here.’

There were many noises of agreement and the people of Esgaroth began to break away from the main group, fetching supplies from the wains to get themselves organised. There were not so many now that Thorin studied them. Maybe twenty had come out of the hundreds who had moved from Esgaroth to the Woodland Realm.

‘This will be a delicate situation,’ Thranduil told Thorin lowly. ‘Most of the Men were extremely happy to hear that Smaug had been killed and were perfectly prepared to sing the praises of your Company for accomplishing the feat. However, there have already been some grumblers asking why they had to leave their homes at all and what recompense they are going to get from the dwarves for their removal. You can guess where that idea is originating, I’m sure. Unfortunately, the Master brought mostly his own supporters with him. We have Varr, Halma and Bard but that is about it.’

‘There is little he will not do to get his hands on Erebor’s gold,’ Thorin judged, keeping wary eyes on the Master.

‘He and some of the others,’ Thranduil agreed. ‘Mistress Draper is a willing accomplice, though that may have as much to do with wounded pride as anything. Her star has been waning this last week or more and her husband’s has been rising. Many among their people now take Master Varr’s advice. Keep an eye out for Master Clune as well,’ here Thranduil indicated the second man who had spoken. ‘He is hungry for power as much as gold and he will support the Master in whatever he wishes if it will increase his own importance.’

‘Blasted politics,’ Thorin muttered. ‘Am I never to get a moment of peace without it?’ Thranduil laughed and viewed Thorin with a pitying gaze.

‘Thorin, you are about to become the King of the largest dwarven kingdom in Middle Earth,’ he pointed out wryly. ‘Did you truly expect to? It is not as if you are not used to ruling.’ When Thorin mumbled something so quietly that not even an elf could have heard it, Thranduil only raised one eyebrow in query.

‘In Ered Luin, Balin used to take care of most of it,’ Thorin admitted reluctantly.

‘Then you may consider yourself lucky for the reprieve that you have had,’ Thranduil told him brightly.

‘You really are far too much like your son sometimes,’ Thorin responded darkly, though this comment did not seem to bother Thranduil at all.

‘Come,’ he said rather than responding to the comment directly. ‘Let us go and find your brave hobbit and your errant nephews. I, too, would like to hear the story of how the lot of you managed to kill a dragon!’

«««

That night, for the first time, Erebor was truly filled with an air of celebration. Kíli had been healed entirely of his injuries and had only a few bruises left which Malial had not thought worth the bother of undoing. Bilbo was not entirely recovered. Malial had knit the bones back together and healed them far more than Legolas had been able to. However, he declared two broken legs the sort of thing that “could not be healed in an instant, you impatient lot” and had informed Bilbo that the bones would be weak for some days. Bilbo would be allowed to walk only short distances until Malial had finished helping the natural healing process along. It was enough for Thorin and the Company, though, that their burglar no longer had to be dosed with numbing potion to get through the day.

The final joy was to be reunited with Fíli, whom Thorin had finally caught up with in the room the Company had been inhabiting. Upon seeing his nephew’s sheepish look and opening mouth, Thorin had merely shaken his head once more.

‘I will forgive you,’ he told Fíli before the lad had chance to speak, ‘this time, because Thranduil says that you have been a model of princely behaviour in my absence.’

‘Yes, Uncle,’ Fíli said solemnly. The gleeful light in his eyes, however, told Thorin that his words were not being taken at all seriously.

‘Spoilt brats,’ he murmured under his breath but he could not bring himself to scold them further. Let them have their joy now that they were reunited in their home at last. There would be time for lectures on duty another day.

When Thorin had envisioned this moment of celebration during the journey, he had thought of it with the Company alone in Erebor. It would be an occasion for the dwarves to rejoice in all that they had regained after the troubles they had undergone, to revel in the end of their suffering. However reality, as Thorin was increasingly discovering, rarely followed his plans.

Certainly the Company were present, including their honorary dwarf, and were celebrating joyfully with the ale that Thranduil had been kind enough to bring along. When Thranduil had indicated that it was time for he, Tauriel and Legolas to leave, however, Bofur had dismissed the idea immediately.

‘They cannot go!’ Bofur declared in a scandalised tone. ‘It was their arrows that brought Smaug down for Bilbo to kill. They’re part of the Company.’

Upon reflection, Thorin was not surprised by the cries of agreement from others in the room. Somehow, rather than the distrust of outsiders that Thorin remembered from the past, his Company had become a group that enjoyed adopting numerous others. The Company also refused Bard and Varr’s suggestions that they, their children and Halma should depart. Although Thorin was keeping a strict eye on the children to ensure that there were no kidnapping attempts. He was  _not_  going to explain to Dís why there were human children locked inside Erebor. Ever.

So the celebration of the reclamation of Erebor was attended by thirteen Dwarves, one Hobbit, three Elves and nine Men. It was loud and raucous and lasted all afternoon and long into the evening. Bombur seemed to cook continuously with the aid of Bilbo and Bofur. Though the latter was eventually dismissed from his role as assistant once he became so drunk that the pot seemed to be stirring him rather than the other way around.

The tale of the killing of the dragon was told several times, some involving rather more embroidery than others, and Bilbo was hailed loudly as Dragon-Killer, much to his embarrassment. Bilbo’s miraculous escape from death under Smaug was also lauded and this particular step required a diversion down to the forge so that those who had not seen Smaug’s corpse could be suitably impressed. If several of the drunker members of the party (including Bain and Eric – Thorin was going to murder whichever member of the Company had let them into the ale) lost the contents of their stomachs when the scent proved a bad combination with alcohol, then Thorin was inclined to think it served them right.

Finally, the children began to nod off to sleep. Alnir, in the way of all young children, was awake one moment and nearly face down on the floor the next. Thankfully Legolas’ reflexes had not been impeded by drink and he managed to snatch the lad up before he hit the ground. This prompted the adults to swiftly appraise the state of the other children and come to the conclusion that it might be best to keep them in Erebor for the night. Extra blankets appeared from Dori and Ori’s packs and, with some sacrifice on the part of the dwarves, there were enough for everyone. While Varr and Bard elected to remain with their children, Thranduil, Legolas and Tauriel prepared to leave.

‘Best not to give the Master too much more to gripe about,’ Thranduil commented to Thorin, who agreed quickly. The man would leap upon any opportunity to play the injured party.

In this way, in the early hours of the morning, Thorin found himself and Bard the only ones still awake. Quite possibly because they were the only ones remaining in Erebor, save the children, who had not drunk themselves into a stupor. Thorin fully considered lying down and pretending to sleep himself, but he had been struggling to sleep the last few nights as it was. His head was constantly spinning with tasks that needed completing and ideas that needed to be put into place to make the Lonely Mountain a home once more. There was very little chance that he would convince Bard he slept if he spent the next hour tossing and turning.

Why Bard did not choose to sleep Thorin did not consider until the man spoke to him after some minutes of silence.

‘I had hoped to have a chance to speak with you,’ Bard said quietly, careful not to wake the other around him. Clearly he did not wish for an audience to this conversation.

‘Indeed,’ Thorin said warily. He had not liked Bard’s choice of discussion topics generally.

‘About the bargain I insisted on,’ Bard continued, forging ahead apparently undeterred. ‘It has been preying upon my mind since you left.’

‘As it has preyed upon mine,’ Thorin pointed out quite sharply, ‘for reasons I am sure you can understand.’

‘I can,’ Bard said with a nod, acknowledging the hit. ‘My reasons we have discussed in depth and they do not need repetition. I only wished to say that I am sorry for holding to the idea so tightly. It is a poor man who allows others to be anxious to salve his own pride. Halma has impressed that upon me firmly since we arrived in Thranduil’s home.’

‘It is a poor man, too,’ Thorin told him, ‘who apologises solely because someone else tells them that they are wrong.’

‘Is it?’ Bard asked him. ‘Surely we must all have our mistakes pointed out to us occasionally.’

‘Yes,’ Thorin agreed, ‘but do you apologise because you know you were wrong or because Halma will be angry with you if you do not?’

Now Bard looked offended. Thorin was not particularly bothered by this, however. The man deserved to be uncomfortable after what he had put Thorin’s family through.

‘I apologise because I did not think of Fíli as anything but a means to an end,’ Bard said at last. ‘I wished to hold you to your promises and saw a member of your family as the best way to do so. In doing so I forgot that Fíli  _is_  your family. I would be furious if someone did such to Bain.’

‘I was furious,’ Thorin allowed, ‘but it was not only because of Fíli, though he was the main part of it. Bard, you acted as if nothing but a threat to my nephew’s life would prevent me from deliberately loosing a dragon upon the world with no care for anyone but myself. You did so without knowing me or anything about me. Still, all that aside, did it never occur to you that I had thirteen reasons to be careful with me. These dwarves and Bilbo are my family. Every one of them, not just Fíli and Kíli. Had you spent the slightest amount of time attempting to see things from my point of view you would have known that.’

‘I did not  _have_  time,’ Bard argued. ‘You summoned me from my town and gave me naught but a few hours to decide the fate of a people I do not even rule! How was I to… and now I am arguing with you again when that was not my intention at all,’ the man finished with a frustrated note in his voice.

‘We would have given you the time,’ Thorin began, holding up a hand when Bard began to speak, ‘but I will admit that you had a hard choice to make and felt like you had little time to make it. Had you changed your mind entirely afterward, I think all would now be forgotten.’

‘Aye,’ Bard said heavily, ‘that, too, was Halma’s argument. She is right. You…,’ Bard hesitated only for a moment, ‘you are right. Pride is an unbecoming trait when taken too far. Before accusing you of heeding only pride and greed, I ought to have checked my own motives for them. It would seem thirty years has not yet been enough time to know myself fully.’

At that, Thorin himself paused. Thirty years. So short a space of time even in comparison to the time that Fíli and Kíli had been alive. Compared to Thorin’s own age…. How long had it taken, after all those years, for Mahal to change Thorin’s perception of the world. Perhaps, now, he was the one who was being too harsh. Bard had apologised, truly apologised this time. Perhaps it was time to let the slight go. Thorin wrestled with himself for what felt like an hour, though it could not have been more than a minute or two. As he twisted his hands in his lap, Bard used his own to pick at a tiny hole in his shirt. Dori would have smacked Thorin’s hands had he caught him doing such, Thorin thought absently.

‘We have, perhaps, both made mistakes,’ Thorin said finally in a heavy tone. It was not the most conciliatory comment he could have made but it was the best he could manage. ‘I believe that there will be much exchange between our peoples in these coming years, Master Bard, and I would not have those years begin with arguments between us. Your children do you credit and have hinted at a side to you I would like better than the one I have seen. Halma’s care for you does the same, as does the report of my own nephews. Let us consider this episode forgotten and move on.’

Bard warred internally for a second and Thorin was not surprised. In truth, he had given little in this discussion. He could not help the feeling that he was in the right here and that Bard was the one who ought to give ground. Balin would doubtless find out about it later and give him the scolding of a lifetime, so he would save his guilt until then.

‘Forgotten then,’ Bard said eventually. ‘Though you will be in luck, for I imagine you will deal far more with the Master than you ever will with me.’

‘You do not intend to rebuild Dale, then?’ Thorin asked with true curiosity.

‘I had not considered it,’ Bard replied. Thorin could see that it was an honest reply. ‘My children and I have our life in Esgaroth and my family’s rule of Dale is far in the past. A better leader could surely be found if my people wished to rebuild their city.’

‘I would not count on them agreeing with you,’ Thorin told him seriously, leaving his antipathy aside for a moment. ‘Your people have great respect for you, Master Bard, as much as they do for your ancestor’s memory I would wager. You might find yourself with more to do than you expect.’

Now Bard shook his head sharply, as if he could shake away the thought of leading the people of Dale in their attempt to rebuild their city.

‘Dale and Esgaroth merged long ago,’ Bard said firmly. ‘They are no longer two separate cities but one people living in one town. If there are those who wish to move to Dale I may join them, if I think it best for the children, but I will not presume to place myself above the others I have lived beside all my life.’

Why could this not have been the side of yourself you showed me when we met? Thorin wondered angrily as he looked at Bard. This man I could have respected. Then he scolded himself, though the voice in his head sounded oddly like Bilbo. “Is it forgotten or is it not, Thorin Oakenshield?” the voice demanded. “You cannot have it both ways any more than Bard could”. Forgotten, Thorin told himself firmly. Old enmities had never helped his people. He  _would_  do better.

‘Well, that will not be a matter for me to interfere in,’ Thorin told Bard, hoping he told the truth. ‘Your people will know their own minds best. My dealings will be only in what share of Smaug’s hoard should rightfully go to those who once lived in Dale and doubtless your people will let me know who I must discuss that with.’

‘No doubt,’ Bard agreed, having argued himself into complacency once more. Thorin did pity the man for a moment. He was going to be horribly disappointed someday very soon, if his people chose to appoint him as their leader as they had before. Thorin held to his resolution, though. This was not for him to meddle with. Bidding Bard a brief goodnight, Thorin moved to his own blankets to try and get some sleep. No doubt tomorrow would be just as trying as this conversation had been.

«««

By the next morning Dain, too, had arrived with his host of dwarven warriors. Thorin’s discussions with him were brief due to the need to speak with the Men and Elves. Thankfully Dain was not a dwarf prone to long speeches. Thorin wished longingly for the days when he could have said the same of himself.

‘There is an army coming?’ Dain asked him.

‘I have reason to believe so, yes,’ Thorin answered. ‘Orcs have haunted our steps since before we reached Rivendell and I doubt they gave up because they grew bored.’

‘There can be nothing for them here, surely,’ Dain debated in Khuzdul, though he was at least careful that his men did not hear him. ‘What use could orcs have for Erebor?’

‘Up until this last week, I would have said the possibility of a dragon as their ally,’ Thorin told him. ‘Now let us simply say that Azog was one of the hunters and I devoutly hope that, if he wished to end the line of Durin, he would come for Fíli, Kíli and I rather than Dís. I presume you would not like to see Erebor overrun by orcs.’

‘Of course not,’ Dain replied in a prickly tone. ‘Erebor is not only the concern of your own folk, Thorin. It holds much for all dwarves to wonder at.’

Thorin did not doubt that Dain spoke of the Arkenstone and hoped fervently that he had not earned himself a new problem in trying to solve an old one. No point worrying about it now, though. There was much to be done. Thankfully this also helped Thorin to resist reminding Dain that Erebor had not been his concern whilst the dragon lived.

Thorin had decided to hold the meetings they must have outside Erebor. Quite apart from his previous concerns about where they might suddenly come across the remains of the dead, Thorin also did not relish the thought of Men he could not trust inside his Mountain. They could not all be watched all of the time and they could not be relied upon for their common sense as his Company could.

Thorin noticed, as he moved to the flat area which had been separated off for the discussions, that said Company appeared to be involved in a couple of familial disputes. Dori and Nori were at it again, which did not entirely surprise Thorin. The two argued on a regular basis and forgave each other as regularly. Ori generally just ignored them, though today he seemed somewhat nervous as he watched. Stranger was the whispered argument taking place between Óin and Glóin but Thorin assumed that Glóin had insulted someone and was being upbraided by his brother for his rudeness.

Thorin’s own mischief-making headaches had been safely rounded up by Balin and were seated on either side of the chair that Thorin himself would sit in, though the seats were swiftly being reordered to make room for Dain at Thorin’s left hand. Except for Bilbo, who had been seated behind and slightly to one side of Thorin's group, the Company would have to stand. Much of the wood in Erebor had rotted over the years and it had taken some time to locate useable chairs as it was.

Thranduil had apparently brought his own seating, although he had requested that most of his party remain standing so that they did not appear to be outnumbering Thorin and his companions. Legolas was actually sitting in a chair and when Thorin looked pointedly at the Prince before looking back to Thranduil, the Elven King gave a barely perceptible eye roll. It must have been quite a battle. Of the Men, the Master had claimed a chair, as had Master Clune and the henchman Bard so disliked. Varr was standing behind a chair in which he had seated Halma and was ignoring the sour looks from both his wife and the Master.

All in all they were a rather assorted bunch and they certainly did not resemble any great Council that Thorin had ever heard described. For a start, those seated were not much more than arm’s length away from one another in places. No one here would have to shout to be heard. Possibly that was a good thing, though. Shouting was not really something Thorin wished to encourage, which was likely why Balin and Thranduil had arranged things this way.

‘I thank you all for the effort you have made to journey here,’ Thorin told them to begin. ‘I realise that as the newest power among you I might normally have been expected to come to you.’

‘The Iron Hills are always happy to answer Erebor’s call,’ Dain responded. Thorin gave him credit for honesty in this at least. Erebor’s call he would always respond to, if not the call of Thorin the uncrowned king.

‘The Woodland Realm, too, is happy to visit friends when circumstances require it,’ Thranduil said with a barely perceptible smile. ‘I have had much company from my fellow rulers these last weeks. It is only right that I should return the favour.’

‘It is not Lake-town’s way to be difficult for the sake of it,’ the Master told those assembled. ‘We have come gladly to talk with our neighbours.’ Perhaps the Master would not be quite so obstinate as Thorin had feared.

‘First of all, simply to make things official,’ Thorin said then, ‘I would like to state that, with Smaug dead, I reclaim Erebor for the line of Durin. You all know that I am Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror. Erebor’s rule is my birthright, as it is the birthright of my sister-sons Fíli, son of Dis, daughter of Thrain and Kíli, son of Dis, daughter of Thrain. It is in their hands that I will leave rule when I depart this life. If any have cause to dispute our claim to Erebor I would have them speak now.’

None did. Thorin was not surprised. It would be very hard for anyone to do so when Thorin and his companions had slain the dragon and when Thorin was so clearly the heir to the throne.

‘With that said, then,’ Thorin continued, ‘I would like to solemnise agreements that have been made between Erebor and the Woodland Realm, first of all.’

Thranduil gave the tilted nod that Thorin would always associate with him alone, indicating that Thorin should continue. In the past Thorin might have considered it arrogance. Now he recognised that Thranduil was allowing Thorin to give the first account of their agreement and considered this a courtesy. Thorin would not find himself on the back foot, trying to deny arguments Thranduil had put forward.

‘To the Woodland Realm, I promised a share of the treasure which was collected within Erebor, in payment for the expense incurred by taking in the Men of Lake-town at my request. I acknowledge that this debt does not lie with Lake-town,’ Thorin nodded to the Master, who gave a regal nod in return, ‘and it is a debt Erebor will honour happily. I believe, if you are agreeable Thranduil, that we can leave its amount to your steward and to mine,’ Thorin gestured at Balin just in case his friend’s role in Erebor was not clear.

‘I think that is wonderful idea,’ Thranduil agreed without a trace of sarcasm. ‘There is nothing more boring than an accounting of how much food has been consumed or how much wine drunk and I would hate to seem a poor host by itemising every expense in front of my guests.’

Thorin restrained the snort that came instinctively. Thranduil and he would have to talk about what the Master had been up to while Thorin was in Erebor. He had some idea from speaking to Fíli but Thorin was certain Thranduil was making a point of some kind. Although possibly not to the Master, Thorin realised as he looked more closely at the delegation of Men. There were a couple stood not far behind the Master who were both flushing and looking firmly at the floor.

‘We are agreed,’ Thorin said, certain that behind him Balin or Ori were taking note of the decision. ‘To our next point then. I also promised you some recompense for the aid which was denied when Thror ruled in Erebor. What army I can command is sure to be limited even once my people have arrived from Ered Luin but it will be at your disposal, on that you have my word.’

‘A promise I receive gratefully,’ Thranduil assured him. ‘I spoke with my Captains more than once in your absence. It will take some months, I fear, to get all of the arrangements in place but my people will march on the evil in our forest and we would be glad of your help.’

‘Finally, the jewels that we have spoken of,’ Thorin concluded. ‘I have no knowledge of where they might be, though I can make an educated guess, knowing my grandfather and his state of mind in the last days of his rule in Erebor. I apologise that I cannot present them now, as I ought. I have not liked to waste our time in the treasury when it would be better spent elsewhere. They will be found, however, and given to you as they should have been many years ago.’

With the greater friendship now between himself and Thranduil, Thorin did not bother with the fiction that the gift had been kept in Erebor ‘by some error’. Thranduil returned the gesture by making no mention of the events of the past himself.

‘Do not feel you must rush, Thorin,’ Thranduil spoke, forgoing formality for a moment. ‘The good of your people is more important than a gift, even one so precious to us as the jewels your grandfather had discovered. I know I can trust your word. I can wait until they are found.’

Thorin felt some relief at this statement. He had not expected Thranduil’s amity to disappear now that Erebor had been reclaimed but it was good to know that the space of a week had not led to a cooling in the friendship between their kingdoms. Well, what little kingdom Thorin could currently claim, anyway.

‘I would wish to turn this discussion to darker matters now, if you will all agree. I have concerns about trouble which may be coming this way, which I have mentioned in passing to Thranduil and to Dain as well.’

‘It is comforting to see,’ the Master interjected snidely, shattering Thorin’s hopes for a more reasonable attitude, ‘how well Lake-town is regarded by the Dwarves of Erebor. Ever we are the last to know what it is you plan, Thorin Oakenshield. Worse, our own claims to the fortune you hide within that mountain are completely ignored!’

‘As for my plans, Master of Lake-town,’ Thorin forced out calmly, ‘you have missed nothing for I have made none. I sent a raven to my cousin telling him that I believed I was hunted by an old enemy and would be glad of his presence at Erebor. He arrived this morning and has heard no more than that. Thranduil knows a little more only because his kingdom was attacked while I stayed there, by those who also appeared to be hunting my Company.’

‘You have not, then,’ the Master questioned loudly, ‘asked your nephew to train the Men of Esgaroth in the art of war with a view to using our townsfolk as soldiers in a war of your own devising?’

‘He has not,’ Fíli broke in, taking umbrage at this accusation. ‘My uncle requested that I suggest to some of those among your people that more training would be helpful, given the danger in the world we have seen on our travels. No mention was made of an army and certainly not of one which would be under dwarvish command.’ Thorin was impressed at Fíli’s skirting of the truth. The Master did have a point here and Thorin could not entirely blame him for being angry. Thorin would have been so in his place.

‘I have every intention,’ Thorin added with as much patience as he could muster, ‘of explaining the situation fully if you will allow.’ Please, he thought, let the subject of the gold go. Really, he ought to know better by now.

‘I would address the issue of the reparation that Lake-town is owed first,’ the Master asserted. ‘Doubtless if we do not you will squirm out of it as your people always do.’

‘You’d do well to mind your tone,’ Dain told the Master warningly. ‘You talk to the heir to the line of Durin, lad, not to a wet-behind-the-ears Lord of Men.’

Well, that would make the situation immeasurably worse. Was there any way to discreetly gag his cousin?

‘I would not try to squirm out of anything,’ Thorin responded, gentling his tone to try and make up for the harshness in Dain’s. ‘I am confused, however, about what compensation you believe is owed. Lake-town has come to no harm through my actions here.’

‘Dale came to a great deal of harm through the actions of the vaunted  _line of Durin_ ,’ the Master said nastily, glaring sidelong at Dain. ‘What of the recompense owed to her people?’

‘Among whom, as we discussed the other night,’ Bard interjected, ‘you do not number.’

‘Oh, I suppose you think the right to negotiate falls to you, Bard, heir of Girion’s line!’ the Master almost exploded. Thorin was really quite concerned now. The man seemed to be becoming more irrational by the moment and Thorin could not understand why.

‘I did not say that,’ Bard replied calmly, looking the Master in the eye with complete sincerity. ‘I do not wish to take any role in negotiations regarding Dale. I only worry that you will, because of your position, find yourself caught between the needs of our town and the needs of a city being rebuilt. It is a major task, Master, you know that.’

Thorin was surprised, he had to admit. The animosity between the pair had been so strong, from his observations, that he had not expected Bard to have a kind word to say to the man. Yet Bard really did seem genuinely concerned.

Regrettably, the Master could not see it.

‘I will not be instructed in my position by a  _bargeman_ ,’ he sneered. Bard’s expression became shuttered.

‘Gentlemen, perhaps we should allow the Master of Esgaroth to explain to us what he feels is due to the descendants of Dale, and we can allow those descendants to appoint one who can collect what aid is to be given at another time,’ Thranduil suggested calmly.

‘That sounds sensible to me,’ Thorin agreed immediately. There was a soft noise, or maybe simply a ripple of movement, behind Thorin. He wondered if Balin were conferring with others about possible aid they could offer.

Then he caught sight of the Master’s face and a feeling of nausea came over him at the light in the man’s eyes. His grandfather’s eyes, Thorin thought in horror. His father’s. Maybe, once, his own. Before he could react, however, the Master had made his demand.

‘There is a jewel in the Mountain you plan to get rid of,’ the Master announced. ‘You will give it to the wizard, Gandalf, and send it away from here. I see no reason why it cannot be given to us instead. Let the Arkenstone be our payment.’

Thorin froze for a moment. How did he know? How had he known they planned to give the Arkenstone to Gandalf? How did he know it was important enough to demand it?

Thorin felt as if the whole world was frozen, in fact. He soon learned his error.

A roar sounded, shockingly loud in the silence that had fallen. Thorin was shoved forward and nearly toppled out of his chair as someone behind pushed past him.

What happened then he did not know. Only that, when he had his balance and looked up, the Master was collapsed forward in his own chair and someone stood over him brandishing a dagger that should not even have been present at such a discussion.

That person, Thorin realised, was Glóin.

««««««

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will freely admit to fudging the travel times here. I could find no mention of how long it takes to get to Erebor from the Iron Hills and I needed Dain and his people to arrive, so arrive they did. I am duly ashamed of myself!


	27. Bitter Pills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes there is no good choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so many of you off guard with the last chapter (although I will confess to some authorly glee which sounded a bit like "gotcha!"). Hopefully this will clear things up again. Thank you to the fabulous ISeeFire for the beta and the ideas which she contributed to this chapter :)

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Bitter Pills

Chaos descended. Even as the Men nearby moved to act, Dwalin rushed forward and grabbed the hand in which Glóin held the dagger. Thorin moved to seize the other hand and Glóin made a noise of pain as Dwalin squeezed his hand violently, forcing him to drop his weapon. Once Glóin was disarmed Dwalin turned him abruptly, taking Thorin entirely by surprise, and brought the back of his hand across Glóin’s face with a sharp crack. Glóin went still, though previously he had been struggling against their hold. Thorin was not letting him go, however. A horrible suspicion was growing in his mind and if he was correct then he was not giving Glóin an inch.

Malial had hurried straight to the Master to see if he could help, but he only confirmed Thorin’s guess when he looked up from the body and shook his head sadly in Thranduil’s direction.

‘He is gone,’ Malial announced into the silence that had fallen. Suddenly, it seemed that everyone was speaking at once.

‘This treachery cannot go unpunished!’ Master Clune shouted. ‘The dwarf must pay for this.’

‘What right had your leader to claim the Arkenstone in the first place?’ Dain shot back immediately.

‘So, you would consider murder an appropriate response to a request?’ Master Clune retorted. The part of Thorin’s mind that was not taken up with cursing and worrying could admit that the man had a very valid point.

‘I do not even understand what has happened,’ Thorin found himself saying, before desperately wishing that he had not. The last thing he needed to be showing right now was any hint of vulnerability.

‘I do,’ Óin said, voice bitter with disgust. ‘We heard the pair of them,’ he continued, gesturing sharply to Nori, whose shoulders were being gripped tightly by Dori though he gave no impression of fighting to go anywhere, ‘talking about seeing the treasure. We thought they just meant taking a peek inside but apparently not.’

‘How long?’ Thorin demanded of Nori. He was too angry to even think of speaking to Glóin. For a moment Nori didn’t answer him, but then Dori shook his brother furiously and the words seemed to have been shaken out.

‘Since the first afternoon,’ Nori admitted.

‘Bind them,’ Thorin ordered the Company. He relinquished his hold on Glóin and allowed Dwalin to take over. Dori took care of Nori, face more thunderous than Thorin had ever seen it.

‘Have either of you taken anything from the treasury?’ Thorin asked the two, making no effort to hide his fury. To have members of his own Company disobey his direct orders was beyond galling. Let them see clearly how angry he was.

Without even waiting to hear Nori’s answer, Ori moved towards his brother and began searching him. His hands were not gentle and his face was set.

‘Little brother,’ Nori said sadly but Ori did not look at him.

‘Don’t,’ the scribe snapped in a tone Thorin had never heard him use before. ‘I do not want to hear it.’ Nori looked heartbroken enough that Thorin relaxed slightly. The gold-sickness could not have taken that firm a hold, not if Ori still had the power to make him feel that ashamed of himself. Nori only looked worse when Ori uncovered two necklaces and a ruby the size of his fist from various pockets.

It was Dwalin’s search of Glóin that truly kicked Thorin in the stomach, though. From one pocket, Dwalin recovered the Arkenstone.

‘You fool,’ was all Thorin could bring himself to say. Glóin kept his head down, refusing to meet the stares focused upon him. Óin was not as restrained as Thorin. Walking across to his brother he grabbed Glóin’s chin and forced his head up.

‘What do you expect me to tell Famla and Gimli?’ he asked Glóin roughly. ‘How would you like me to explain to Gimli that his father has destroyed himself for the sake of a pretty rock?’ Glóin gulped but did not reply. Óin snorted in disgust.

‘Thorin is right,’ the healer spat out. ‘You are a fool.’ Then he turned on his heel and walked away. Balin caught him before he could leave completely and began speaking to him quietly.

‘I demand to know what their punishment is to be,’ Master Clune insisted once there was silence once more. There were strong murmurs of agreement from many of the other Men.

‘Well, _I_ would like to know when it was that you decided to give an artefact of our people away to a wizard, Thorin?’ Dain added, as if Thorin did not have enough to worry about right now.

‘I cannot simply decide on punishment immediately,’ Thorin told Master Clune and his people, ignoring Dain for now. ‘For a start, it appears that Master Glóin has been a victim of the gold sickness that has often assailed my people and is not in his right mind. I must take that into consideration.’

‘I do not see how it makes any difference,’ Mistress Draper argued. ‘The dwarf has committed murder right in front of us all, it does not matter why he did it!’

‘Of course it matters,’ Halma disputed with her. ‘When Wennet Vintner pushed Gano off the dock and nearly drowned the poor lad a few years back we did not hang him because all knew that he was not well. If Thorin tells us the same is true of Master Glóin then surely we must accept that.’

‘ _Someone_ must take responsibility,’ another man chipped in. ‘Or are we to say that it is perfectly acceptable for murder to go unpunished? If the dwarf is not responsible for his actions then his King must be so instead.’ Before Thorin could even respond to this suggestion more disagreements broke out between the men themselves. Varr, Halma and Bard were joined by a few others in trying to argue for further investigation. On the other side were Master Clune and others who wished for an immediate punishment, though they seemed undecided whether Thorin or Glóin should be the one punished.

Thorin turned to Thranduil, hoping to find out what he thought of this mess, only to find that Thranduil’s eyes had gone cold and hard.

‘Gold-sickness,’ the Elven King said slowly. ‘I had thought you had taken precautions against such a thing, Master Oakenshield.’ Damn it all, Thorin thought, not Thranduil as well. The Men were going to be enough to deal with, must everything else start to come apart at the same time? ‘Yet here we are, with a dead man on our hands and a gold-sick dwarf at the centre of trouble again,’ Thranduil continued.

‘Father, do not be ridiculous,’ Legolas broke in instantly. ‘You know that Thorin took precautions, we talked last night of what has been happening in Erebor. The Company were paired together for exactly this reason and forbidden from entering the treasury. Thorin could not be everywhere at once. Was he supposed to keep them all under lock and key?’ Legolas’ voice was sharp and Thranduil stiffened with anger before meeting his son’s eyes.

‘Father,’ Legolas said more gently, ‘this is not Thror we are dealing with. Thorin has given us no reason to distrust him.’ Thank you, Thorin thought to himself with some frustration. At least _someone_ recognises that.

‘No,’ Thranduil sighed. ‘No he has not. Thorin, I am sorry.’ Thorin waved his hand but turned away. This was a maddening discovery, the distrust that Thranduil had slipped into so easily, but it was not currently the most pressing issue.

«««

Thorin dearly regretted missing part of the argument amongst the Men when he heard the Master’s minion make a pronouncement.

‘If Master Glóin is not to be held responsible and you say that a King cannot be personally punished for the crimes of his people, why not his heir? After all, they agreed with Bard that it should be so.’

Thorin’s only consolation was that Bard looked as unhappy at this suggestion as he was.

‘Alfrid, that agreement was never meant to stand for anything except the results of trying to kill the dragon,’ Bard objected. ‘It has nothing to do with what has happened here.’

‘It could, though,’ another man in the crowd said, sounding taken with the idea. ‘Why should the Prince not be held accountable if the other dwarf cannot be?’

‘How about because it is nothing to do with him?’ Dori interjected unexpectedly. ‘This is not Fíli’s crime.’

‘Well, according to the dwarves it does not seem to be anybody’s crime,’ Mistress Draper sneered. ‘Not the culprit, not the King, not his heir! Pray tell, who are we to see punished for this murder?’

Kíli stepped up next to his brother and clutched Fíli’s hand tightly. Thorin saw the look Kíli gave him and felt helpless. He honestly did not know what to suggest, though he knew there had to be some way around the problem.

‘I... I would stand,’ Fíli whispered to Thorin then. ‘I am not sure we will have any other option, Uncle.’

‘I will not sentence you to death for Glóin’s idiocy,’ Thorin refused but Fíli shook his head.

‘We can talk about Glóin later,’ his nephew told him, ‘but I think if we gave them a target for their anger we could probably talk them down from execution. They are frustrated now because they believe we are trying to worm our way out of it.’

‘Fíli,’ Kíli said desperately but he was interrupted before he could finish.

‘Master Bard,’ Tauriel called, ‘your daughters are coming.’ Her voice was clear enough that all heard her and stopped talking.

‘I do not want them involved in this,’ Bard said firmly. ‘If you will excuse me....’

‘Kíli can go,’ Fíli broke in. ‘They will be less suspicious if it is Kíli.’

The logic of that escaped Thorin entirely and Kíli did not look that convinced either. Fíli sent Bard a pleading glance that Thorin only just caught, however, and Bard nodded quickly in agreement.

‘If you would, Master Kíli?’ he asked politely, yet in a tone which left little room for refusal. Kíli hesitated a moment longer and Thorin made his decision.

‘Kíli, go!’ he insisted quietly. Kíli glared at him in betrayal but did not dare disobey his uncle in the middle of such a tense situation. He went and met Tilda and Sigrid halfway to the meeting site, skilfully redirecting them back the way they had come.

«««

The break had given Thorin time to arrange his thoughts a little. This situation was spinning out of control quickly and if he did not get a handle on it soon then he might find himself dealing with a mob.

‘Masters and Mistresses of Lake-town,’ he said quickly, before anyone else could begin, ‘if it has seemed that we are trying to brush off what has happened then you have my sincerest apologies. There is no question that a crime has been committed and that one of my people is guilty of murder. I wish only for a little time to fully understand what has happened. You can understand, I am sure, how completely this has taken me by surprise. As I told Master Bard only last night, this Company is my family. Master Glóin is my cousin by blood. To see this happen at his hands is… well, I can scarcely believe it, even having seen it with my own eyes.’

‘Thank you, Your Majesty,’ one of the older women in the crowd said then, stepping forward to stand slightly alone. ‘Fleinn,’ here she gestured in the direction of the Master’s body, now covered by an elven cloak, ‘for all his faults, was my nephew. I appreciate your words and your apology. I can sympathise with standing before your kin and finding their words and actions hard to comprehend. What Fleinn was thinking when he demanded such a price from you I do not know.’

Fearing that Dain would use this opportunity to return to the topic of the Arkenstone, Thorin attempted to look at the other dwarf out of the corner of his eye. He was greatly relieved to see that Balin had finished with Óin and had moved to stand near their cousin, with a firm hand on his arm. Thank Mahal a thousand times for Balin.

‘What would you suggest, Thorin?’ Varr asked then, taking the chance to exploit the change of tone.

‘My nephew has suggested that he is willing to uphold the spirit of our agreement with Bard, though the contract drawn up does not, in fact, apply to this situation. I would take a moment now to speak with him and with the rest of my advisors. I prefer not to make unilateral decisions where possible.’

‘That seems sensible to me,’ a man said. From the hand he rested on the shoulder of the Master’s aunt, Thorin imagined he was her husband. ‘We, too, should take a moment to talk. To stand here talking over the body of the dead seems somewhat… crass, in truth.’

A few of those among the contingent of Men seemed to start at this statement. The drama of the situation had caught them all up and they clearly had not realised that they had not even moved the body yet.

When none argued with the suggestion, Thorin drew away and signalled to the Company to join him next to Bilbo’s seat. Dwalin and Dori came with their respective captives and soon all but Kíli were gathered round.

«««

‘I wish to hear neither apologies nor excuses,’ Thorin told Nori and Glóin immediately. ‘I have no time or patience for either at this moment. This calamity rests upon your heads and it is our job to right it.’

Both dwarves flinched perceptibly and Thorin was angry enough to be pleased at the sight. To have Fíli threatened by Bard’s lack of trust was one thing, but this threat had come from within his own Company and he wished them to feel the sting of that truth.

‘Fíli, are you certain of this?’ Balin asked before they went any further. ‘There is no guarantee that we will get our way here. Our position is tenuous at best.’

‘I am sure,’ Fíli said steadily. He looked at Balin to reassure him, then turned to Thorin to do the same. ‘The alternative is war with the Men, I fear. We have not a leg to stand on here, all saw what happened.’

‘He is right,’ Dwalin concurred. ‘You did not hear them, Thorin, but Dain and some of his host were talking of violence while you argued with the Men. They seemed split over the reason – some spoke of the Arkenstone and others talked of the threat to the heir of Durin’s line – but their thoughts were turning the same way. We might well find ourselves with a war on our hands if we are not careful.’

Thorin cursed again. He was beginning to regret that he had ever invited Dain here. There were enough uncontrollable variables without Dain and his dwarves turning into a landslide Thorin could not contain.

‘Let me go and talk to them,’ Bombur put in quietly then. ‘You do not need me for this and people talk to me easily enough. I may be able to judge the tone of their thoughts, even if I can’t change it.’

‘Do it,’ Thorin ordered, ‘and Bofur, go with him. If you can calm them at all I will owe you a great deal.’

The brothers split away from the Company and hurried towards Dain and his camp. Thorin turned his attention to his own people.

‘I must take the punishment,’ Glóin said. It was the first he had spoken since his murder of the Master. ‘There is no reason that Fíli should do so.’

‘There is every reason, much as I wish there were not,’ Balin said with great asperity. ‘Right now the only thing separating what you did from a blatant assassination of another leader is the excuse that you were overcome by madness. If we agree that you should be executed for the crime because you knew what you were doing, we risk someone deciding to try and push their luck by declaring that Thorin must make substantial recompense for allowing you to do so. Or even suggesting that Thorin _ordered_ you to do so.’

‘They would not dare, surely,’ Bilbo exclaimed in horror.

‘Lad, I have watched politics all my life,’ Balin told him sadly. ‘There is little people will not do to get their own way if they think they can get away with it.’

‘Could the elves not help us?’ Ori questioned quietly, still studiously avoiding Nori’s attempts to catch his eye.

‘I will not rely on the elves in this,’ Thorin told him, gentling his tone in respect for Ori’s distress. ‘Thranduil and I had words amongst the chaos. All is not well there.’ Now it was Balin’s turn to curse.

‘Split the punishment between us,’ Nori suggested. ‘If they cannot execute one perhaps they will agree to lesser punishments for three.’

‘Two,’ Dwalin told him, voice rough but not entirely angry. ‘You did not move an inch even before Dori grabbed you, thank Mahal for his grace. We will keep you out of it and save your hide for Thorin to deal with. One madman is easier to explain than two.’

‘Use the shearing,’ Dori stated then. ‘The full version for Glóin, so that all might know of what has been done, and a lesser version for Fíli. It is not right that he should bear the mark forever. That might appease them if we phrase it properly.’

Thorin looked at Balin questioningly and Balin considered it for a minute.

‘It should work,’ he told Thorin quickly. ‘Glóin will have to lose all of his hair and the beard can never be grown back. We cannot be seen to try and minimise the severity of his crime. There is no reason we cannot have a lesser penalty for Fíli though. Present it as an atonement, if you will, a visible apology from the line of Durin to the Men of Esgaroth. If we can make it less of a punishment and more of a gesture it will be easier for us to reduce the harshness of the measure.’

‘Fíli?’ Thorin asked. Fíli appeared startled and Thorin took his nephew’s shoulder in his hands. ‘You make this sacrifice for us,’ Thorin told him, ‘I will not command it.’

‘I will do it,’ Fíli agreed. Then he gave a small laugh and shook his head slightly. ‘Kíli will be thrilled. It will be the first time I have been less hairy than him.’

‘Dís will have Glóin’s balls for earrings,’ Dwalin said crudely, a small, spiteful smile appearing at Glóin’s flinch.

‘Enough,’ Thorin announced with finality. ‘Let us get this done before the Men have chance to put together any demands I will like even less than this solution.’

«««

The recommencement of the meeting looked misleadingly similar to the way the day had begun. Each party sat in the same places, though Glóin was still held by Dwalin. Nori was left visibly free to move as he willed. Thranduil and the elves were present but something about Thranduil’s bearing made it clear that he only intended to observe.

Surprisingly, Bard was the first to speak.

‘I would have no misunderstandings between us, Master Oakenshield,’ he said somewhat formally. ‘If Lake-town asks anything of your nephew today it does not come from me and I do not agree with it. I told you yesterday that I regretted forcing the agreement and I hold to that.’

Not all of those from Lake-town looked pleased at this announcement but none disputed Bard’s right to make it. Thorin nodded in acknowledgement and gave Bard the best smile he could manage under the circumstances.

‘As Fleinn’s relations,’ the Master’s aunt said then, ‘my husband and I will take the fore here. It has been agreed that that is our right.’ Now, Thorin felt relief. The older woman and her husband were reasonable, at least.

‘Then I will speak to you gladly, Mistress…’ Thorin paused, aware that he knew few of the names of those he spoke to.

‘I am Ragna,’ she told him with a kind smile, ‘and my husband is Asi.’

‘Mistress Ragna,’ Thorin concluded.

‘I can own my nephew’s faults, King Thorin, but I can’t accept that his death will go unpunished,’ Ragna said firmly. On this point Thorin knew she would not move.

‘That is fair, Mistress Ragna,’ he recognised. ‘I was worried by the talk of execution, though. The gold-sickness may seem a strange one to your people but it is one I know better than I would like. It is a real illness for our people. To kill a dwarf for falling to it seems extreme.’

‘So Halma has advised me,’ Ragna answered, smiling at the other woman slightly. ‘We are not unaware of illnesses of the mind and I can understand that a man, or a dwarf, might do things whilst suffering from an illness that he would not normally do. I will not ask for execution, though there are those here who disagreed with that decision.’

Oh, I am sure there were, Thorin thought. Alfrid, for one. The smarmy man was not far behind Ragna and his beady little eyes flitted from person to person, rarely staying focused upon anyone for long.

‘What will you ask?’ Thorin queried. He would like to simply make his own suggestion but he did not wish to propose anything that he did not need to.

‘Something permanent,’ Asi replied in his wife’s stead. ‘What was done here was as permanent as it gets and the punishment ought to match the crime.’

Not quite as permanent as some of you think, Thorin noted wryly. You need only have a sufficiently lawless creator and you would find that a number of rules of the world could be bent. Aloud he said,

‘There is a punishment within dwarven law that we use for a number of crimes, for the severity of the penalty can be altered. Should it be acceptable, then Master Glóin can have his hair and beard shorn, as you might shear a sheep. His hair might be allowed to regrow in time but the beard would be gone forever – it is the greatest loss of honour that we recognise as a people. All would know him disgraced.’

‘Hair?’ Alfrid exclaimed. ‘He has killed a man in cold blood and you would have him lose his hair? The two are not even remotely similar.’

‘Do you see any dwarf here,’ Balin asked from behind Thorin, ‘who does not bear a beard of some kind, Master Alfrid? Or any whose hair is worn short?’

‘Of course not, you are dwarves!’ Alfrid replied loudly. ‘That does not make a loss of hair a stern punishment, though.’

‘That is exactly what it makes it,’ Balin responded in the tone of an exasperated teacher whose pupil is missing an obvious point. ‘To lose our hair is to become less than a dwarf. Until it grows back, _if_ it is allowed to grow back, then the dwarf in question is very nearly outcast. The only reason that Glóin will not be is because his wife and child might feel the need to go with him and this is no more their doing than it is yours!’

‘Even so,’ Asi interjected, ‘Master Glóin would retain much of his life exactly as it was. Our nephew will not. With all due respect, King Thorin, you allowed this to happen. Master Glóin should not have been armed at this meeting. Nor, if I understand correctly, should he have been anywhere near the gold which made him ill. It is a failure.’

‘A failure which might affect any king,’ Legolas added in the same sharp tone he had taken with his father earlier. ‘No one can control all of their people all of the time. We are not tyrants.’

Fíli stepped forward then, obviously having come to his own judgement about the way that the meeting was turning. Thorin sincerely hoped that his sister-son would grow out of this sacrificial streak at some point. It was doing nothing for Thorin’s continued sanity.

‘I am aware that our line is considered to have failed here, Master Asi,’ Fíli declared. ‘I am prepared to make some reparation for not perceiving the problem before the situation reached this point.’

‘Fíli, sweetling, you should not have to do this,’ Halma said, clearly distressed. ‘It sounds like a very serious step to take against one so young.’

‘He is here as an adult, is he not?’ one of the Men questioned then.

‘Barely,’ Halma retorted. ‘Among his own people Fíli is little more than a child.’ Fíli could not decide whether to thank her for her defence or insist that he was not in any way a child.

‘On average a dwarf might live for 250 years,’ Balin told the man in question. ‘There are tales within my own family of ancestors who passed 300. Fíli is 70. That is a very long time to bear a mark of disgrace for an act you did not commit. Far longer than the Master’s lifetime, in fact.’

A number of faces softened at this explanation. Thorin saw more than one of the Men look at Fíli with a fond glance. His nephew, it seemed, was fairly well-liked among the people of Esgaroth.

‘Ragna, I would say let Fíli bear a less severe forfeit,’ Halma advised the other woman.

‘I would be grateful for the clemency,’ Fíli spoke up. Thorin had a feeling that the smile he gave was deliberately wry and his tone chosen to play up his youth. ‘My brother will be unbearable if I can never grow a beard again, after all the years I have tormented him about his own.’

‘It seems fair to me,’ Varr told Ragna and Asi. ‘Fíli offers a great deal to try and make amends to us. Why not show some mercy now and hope that we will be offered the same when we inevitably need it later?’

‘I disagree,’ Master Clune argued, speaking for the first time in some while. ‘If we allow this crime to be punished lightly we will be seen as weak and none will take us seriously.’

‘If we can only convince others to take us seriously through unnecessary harshness then I doubt punishing Fíli will change their view,’ Bard told him. ‘Better we be seen as fair, surely. We do not need our neighbours to fear us, only to respect us.’

Asi took his wife’s hand and they conferred silently between them for some moments.

‘We accept your terms for the punishment of your people, King Thorin,’ Asi said. ‘I would like to be present when it takes place but I will let you choose the time and location.’ Thorin also thought for a moment, catching Fíli’s eye.

‘Tomorrow,’ Fíli told Ragna and Asi. ‘I’d better warn my brother and the children before we do this. I would also prefer that it be done inside Erebor.’

‘Tomorrow morning,’ Ragna agreed. ‘We will meet you at your front gate two hours after sunrise.’

Thorin made his agreement clear and then rose, indicating blatantly that he considered the meeting over. He had yet to deal with Nori and Glóin personally, he needed to speak to the Company and he needed to get the Arkenstone away from the Company as soon as possible. If one more thing went wrong, he might just curl up in a ball somewhere he would not be found and cry.

«««««« 


	28. Divide and Conquer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All is not well within the Company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay in posting. I have been having some headache issues which made it hard to concentrate on writing - and then meant that ISeeFire had to do a truly heroic job of betaing this chapter before it was ready to post. The original draft of this chapter will only be viewed over my dead body :D Hopefully it was worth the wait.
> 
> Thank you for all the comments and kudos, as always. I am still blown away by how many of you take the time to leave feedback, especially when we're 160,000 words in!

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Divide and Conquer

The rift amongst the Company was obvious by the time they arrived within Erebor once more. Dori had been carrying Bilbo to save him from the discomfort of the long walk and Ori stood close to his eldest brother, completely shunning a shattered-looking Nori.

Bofur and Bombur had rejoined them and walked near to Thorin. Bifur also moved closer, signing swiftly to Bofur for a moment before turning to Thorin.

‘I’ll go and get Kíli,’ Bifur told Thorin, reminding him that his nephew was still elsewhere with Bard’s daughters.

‘Thank you, Bifur,’ Thorin said quietly, stopping for a moment. ‘I don’t imagine he’ll let you get away with keeping any of this from him, but try to be gentle about it if you can.’

‘That’s why it’s me instead of Bofur,’ Bifur responded. The look in his eyes made his amusement, brief though it was, clear. With that Bifur turned and walked away.

Dwalin was still guarding Glóin, neither dwarf speaking to anyone. Thorin was struck with sympathy for Dwalin all of a sudden. He and Glóin had always been close when they were growing up, so similar in temperament that they had gravitated towards one another naturally. Yet today Dwalin had not hesitated to do what needed to be done and Thorin was certain the whole situation was bothering Dwalin more than he would let on.

Balin, Óin and Fíli formed the last group. They were the only ones not walking in silence. Instead Fíli spoke urgently to Óin, with Balin adding to the conversation occasionally. It was the first time in months that Thorin had seen his Company as anything but a united front and it shook him badly. He had relied completely on these dwarves all the way through the quest and now, just as they neared the end, cracks were forming.

There was little conversation even once they were in the hall that they had chosen to eat and sleep in. Nothing important would be done until they were all assembled.

When Bifur and Kíli finally reappeared, the silence was quickly broken.

‘Uncle, you can’t let this happen,’ Kíli exclaimed as soon as he walked into the room. ‘It isn’t fair!’

‘Kíli, I can’t stop it now,’ Thorin responded regretfully. ‘We have made the agreement and we must stick to it.’

‘But Fíli didn’t do anything,’ Kíli protested, shooting Glóin a poisonous glare as he did so. ‘Glóin was the one who killed the Master.’

‘Kíli,’ Fíli objected then, ‘Glóin did not do this on purpose. The gold has made him ill.’

‘He should not have been anywhere near the Valar-damned gold!’ Kíli all but shouted. ‘We were _all_ told that we were not to go into the treasury. Uncle could not have made it any clearer. I don’t understand why you agreed to something so ridiculous, Uncle.’

Thorin’s nerves had been frayed for hours at this point. Two of his Company had betrayed him, the Men had nearly had their heads for the Master’s murder, Thranduil seemed to have abandoned him, Dain was proving to be a problem all of his own and he had been forced to agree, for the second time, to harming his nephew in order to calm the situation down. Much as he wished he had not, later he would not be surprised that he lost his temper with Kíli.

‘Do you think I _wanted_ to, Kíli?’ Thorin said, voice raised and echoing disturbingly in the quiet of the room. ‘Do you think I enjoy holding my tongue and my temper time and time again when we are faced with people who seem determined to cause us pain of some sort or another? If I had my way I would damn them all to perdition and have done with it! As I have been trying to explain to you for months, though, that is not how a king works. What I want _does not matter_ if it does not match what is best for our people. We need allies to fight the orcs so that it is safe for our people to come home. We cannot afford to enter into a war against two races with a far stronger presence in the East than we have had for years. With fourteen of us against the assorted host of Men and Elves, the result would be a foregone conclusion!’

Kíli took a few steps back, retreating in the face of his uncle’s anger. In fact, there were a number of shocked and wary glances being sent Thorin’s way from amongst the Company. Feeling completely unequal to dealing with anyone Thorin dropped his head into his hands and held on tightly. He simply could not cope with this right now.

‘All of you, go somewhere else for a while,’ Thorin heard. ‘Dori, Bifur, if those two idiots try to go anywhere near the treasury, stop them. Bilbo, take the Arkenstone please. If anyone tries to take it from you then you have permission to kill them.’

Thorin heard the sound of many footsteps withdrawing from the room, including the hesitating steps that Bilbo had been taking since his legs had been healed. Then Thorin felt a large hand rest on his back for a moment before someone sat down next to him. Sheer force of will had Thorin straightening, though he looked straight ahead and could sense that the other dwarf did the same.

«««

‘I wondered how long it would take for that to happen,’ Dwalin informed him, as if he were commenting on the weather. Thorin laughed bitterly.

‘How long it would take for me to revert to yelling at everyone when things go wrong?’ he asked.

‘How long it would take for all this patience and good behaviour to wear on you,’ Dwalin answered. ‘That was my first clue about all this,’ Dwalin waved his hand around to encompass everything around them. ‘You were far too cheerful and reasonable to be the Thorin I knew.’

Now Thorin found himself chuckling wearily. Trust Dwalin to be suspicious of Thorin’s good behaviour where others would simply have been thankful for it.

‘I had to try,’ he told his friend. ‘It was such a disaster, I had to try and make it right somehow.’

‘You have,’ Dwalin answered. ‘We’re here, in our Mountain, all alive. Bilbo’s still with us, the Elves have not kept us prisoner, no one out there is besieging us…’

‘Yet,’ Thorin inserted, only to find himself clouted on the back of the head.

‘ _No one is besieging us_ ,’ Dwalin emphasised, ‘and there is every chance that we will have enough allies to see the blasted orcs off when they arrive. It’s not going that badly, all told.’

‘Except that Thranduil accused me of not doing enough to prevent the gold-sickness spreading, Glóin has killed the Master, the Men are rightly angry and Fíli is about to lose his beard to try and appease them.’

‘Thranduil apologised, if Balin’s not lying to me,’ Dwalin countered, ‘and the Men are quiet enough for now. Hair grows back, Thorin,’ Dwalin rubbed a hand over his own scalp. ‘Well, most of it does. It is unpleasant, yes, but it isn’t the end of all things.’

‘Dain…’ Thorin began, trailing off when he was interrupted.

‘Dain we can deal with tomorrow,’ Dwalin said roughly. ‘He needs reminding of his place, that’s all.’ Thorin felt a shiver of premonition but, as he had no interest in hashing out the situation with Dain right then, ignored it. Instead he concentrated on trying to hold back the words that were trying to escape from his mouth. He was not entirely surprised when he failed, though.

‘I am tired, Dwalin,’ Thorin said, hating the plaintive tone of his voice.

‘You’re allowed to be,’ Dwalin assured him, though he did not allow the gentleness that Balin would have used into his voice. ‘No one expects you to be perfect all the time except you, Thorin. They,’ he gestured towards the door, ‘will not think less of you for losing your temper occasionally.’

Thorin closed his eyes and let his head rest back against the wall. For a long time, he and Dwalin sat in silence and Thorin tried to ignore all of the thoughts and ideas spinning round and round in his head. Finally, he heard Dwalin lever himself to his feet.

‘Get it together,’ the warrior told Thorin firmly. ‘I’m bringing them back in now.’

Thorin straightened and forced his eyes open. He was still tired, still worried, still angry with Glóin and Nori and still wishing that he did not have to deal with this mess. He no longer felt as if he was losing his grip, however, and he thought he would be able to hold it together until they were done here. That would have to do.

«««

Outside, Kíli and Fíli had come as close to a full-out argument as they had been in years. As the rest of the Company stood around trying to pretend that they could not hear the brothers, Fíli lit into Kíli with only a moment’s hesitation.

‘What was that all about?’ he asked his brother furiously, wishing that he did not have to be the older, more mature of the two of them. He really would quite like to smack Kíli right now.

‘What do you think it was about?’ Kíli asked defiantly.

‘As far as I can tell?’ Fíli responded. ‘That, little brother, was a temper tantrum that you should be far too old to throw.’

‘What?’ Kíli asked disbelievingly. This was probably not going to end well. Fíli could sense the rest of the Company physically drawing away. Fíli could not blame them. He would prefer not to be in the middle of this mess either. He had to say this, though. Kíli couldn’t tear into Uncle like that every time he had to make a decision Kíli didn’t like. There were probably going to be a number of those now that they had a kingdom again.

‘I don’t know what else to call it,’ Fíli told his brother firmly. ‘Uncle had to make a decision you did not approve of and so you shouted at him like a dwarfling who was told he could not have pudding after dinner.’

‘He has agreed to have your beard shaved off!’ Kíli responded, as if Fíli was somehow unaware of this fact.

‘ _I_ have agreed to have my beard shaved off,’ Fíli insisted, ‘to prevent us from ending up in a war. It is no different to what we did in the Woodland Realm and you agreed to that. It could have cost us our lives then. At least this is just hair.’

‘It is not just hair,’ Kíli argued. ‘Fíli, this is your honour we are talking about.’

‘Yes,’ Fíli agreed, ‘it is. I will have no honour if I allow Glóin to die when I could prevent it. Even less if I allow our people to go to war just to save my own dignity. You know that. You were the one who explained it to me when Uncle was having no luck with Bard!’

‘But… but…’ Kíli gaped, apparently not sure how to end the sentence.

‘Kíli, Uncle has to make hard decisions, that is what being a king _means_ ,’ Fíli scolded. ‘It is one thing arguing with him when he has made decisions that don’t make sense. That is our job because we are his heirs. You cannot just take it out on him when things happen that you didn’t want to happen. He has enough trouble with everyone else expecting him to solve every problem perfectly. He doesn’t need it from us as well.’

‘There should have been another way,’ Kíli replied but he did not seem convinced by his own words.

‘In an ideal world there is a way out of every bad situation,’ Bilbo said then, bravely stepping into the fray. ‘We are not in an ideal world though. You and I know that. In an ideal world we would have survived Smaug completely unscathed. Clearly that did not happen.’

‘Uncle shouts at us when things go wrong,’ was Kíli’s only response. Good, Fíli thought, this was always his brother’s last resort when he knew he was wrong. He went quiet and tried to deflect the attention somewhere else. Kíli knew it too. When Fíli raised an eyebrow at his brother, Kíli flushed and ducked his head.

‘I know,’ Kíli muttered, ‘just because Uncle does it doesn’t mean I should too.’

‘Then I do not believe we need speak of this any longer,’ Balin concluded. ‘Kíli knows what he needs to do.’

‘Yes, Balin,’ the boys chorused. Fíli walked over to his brother and bumped Kíli’s shoulder with his own. Kíli bumped back, a little harder than he needed to but nothing that would hurt. They were alright then. It would take worse than this to break them apart.

«««

The Company filed back in looking much the same as they had when they had left. Thorin got the impression that none of them had really spoken to one another since his loss of temper. None except Kíli and Fíli, it seemed, for Kíli looked shamefaced and Fíli sterner than Thorin was used to seeing him. The first thing said when they re-entered was,

‘I am sorry, Uncle.’

Thorin was more than slightly taken off guard. He had fully expected to have to apologise for shouting at Kíli at the slightest provocation. He was not expecting to be given an apology instead.

‘I shouldn’t have blamed you for what happened,’ Kíli continued, voice stronger as he went. ‘It was not your fault. I know that.’

‘I am sorry as well, Kíli,’ Thorin said quietly, relieved that this was not going to turn into another argument. There were quite enough of those in his future. Near future, it would appear, for Balin was not one for putting off unpleasant tasks.

‘I think we had best clear up exactly what has been happening here,’ Balin announced. ‘Quite apart from anything else, we will need to make sure that we know what we are going to tell everyone else, so that there are no mistakes. Some of those who have come to Erebor would be only too glad to find a hole in our story to pounce on.’

Thorin nodded slowly and then looked straight at Nori. Best that the story come from there first.

«««

‘Well,’ Thorin said, allowing the pause at the end of the word to act as a question. Nori visibly braced himself before responding.

‘We started the work as you told us,’ Nori began. ‘We did not intend to do anything other than clear the old quarters. At first, the job was easy enough. There was little of any use in the first couple of homes. Either they had been empty or their owners had managed to gather many of their belongings before they fled. It was in the third house that the problem began.’ Nori paused again and swallowed hard, closing his eyes for a moment. Thorin was startled to see that there was a tear rolling down the thief’s face.

‘It was my fault,’ Nori said firmly, catching Thorin’s eye, then those of the rest of the Company in turn. All except his brothers. When he neared their location he passed over them, moving onto Bilbo swiftly. ‘You should know that, above all else.’

‘Just tell us what happened, lad,’ Dwalin advised. ‘Apportioning blame can wait for later.’ Nori nodded, satisfied to have made his point.

‘In the third house we found far more that might be of use. That is where most of what we brought you was found. We also…,’ Nori swallowed again, voice thick, ‘we also found a body. In one of the bedrooms. I opened a chest expecting to find spare linens or clothes or, I don’t know, something mundane. But it wasn’t mundane at all. It was a little boy. He must have been frightened by all the commotion. Maybe he even heard people shouting about a dragon. He… he’d climbed inside but he never got out. I don’t understand why he didn’t get out,’ Nori told Thorin, as lacking in composure as Thorin had ever seen him.

‘He probably felt safe in there,’ Bilbo told Nori gently. ‘Maybe he expected someone to come and get him when everything was over.’

‘I couldn’t stay in there after that,’ Nori resumed. ‘I just couldn’t. It was too much. I told Glóin we should go and do something else for a while and then come back. I really intended to go back,’ now Nori did look at his brothers, pleading with them to believe him. ‘We went outside to sit down and just talk for a while, so that we could think about something else. I can’t even remember how we ended up talking about the treasure. Maybe I brought it up. I was curious about some of the items I’d caught sight of when we were in the treasury and we slipped into talking of what we would do with our shares when they were given to us.

‘Glóin started wondering about how much our share would actually be and we debated it for a while. I was certain that there was more in there than he thought but he was adamant that the whole room hadn’t been entirely full. Somehow we got to the point where Glóin suggested we should just go and look. As soon as he said it we dismissed the idea. We were forbidden from entering and we both knew it. I think we’d frightened ourselves a little just by considering it, so we decided that the break was over and we got back up and went into another house. But the problem was that the idea was in our minds.

‘All that afternoon we kept coming back to the topic and soon we were talking ourselves into it. The treasure was ours anyway, wasn’t it? We had fought against Smaug and helped kill him, we had earned it. Glóin had financed the whole expedition, he pointed out more than once. Why shouldn’t he go and have a quick look at what his money had earned? And I…’

‘And you?’ Balin queried sharply when Nori did not continue.

‘I… I kept thinking that it was so unfair that Thorin still didn’t trust me. It seemed to stop mattering that the rule was for all of us. Or that it had been put in place for a very good reason. Somehow I had turned it into a slight. I was the thief and was not trusted to behave myself in a room full of gold, even by my own kin. I know that it is a ridiculous argument but somehow it started to make sense. It was not just Thorin’s gold it was ours as well. All we would be doing was taking a quick look at what was ours. By late afternoon we had talked ourselves into it. We left the houses and went to just peek inside the treasury for a moment, to see our reward…’

‘Yet, you never went back to work,’ Óin said abruptly.

‘No, we didn’t,’ Nori concurred. ‘There was so much in there. So many things I had never seen the like of. I kept thinking, just one more. I’ll just see what that is and then we’ll go. It must have been the curse, I know. I think part of me knew it then. I’d remember that Ori and Dori would be waiting for me to come and have dinner and I’d fetch Glóin and we’d leave and I would tell myself I wasn’t going back again. I’d get up in the morning and go back to that house, or to the next one, and that would be it. Except that morning would come and I’d walk off with Glóin and somehow I’d find myself in the treasury and it would all start again.’

‘You would fetch Glóin?’ Óin questioned. ‘Did Glóin ever find you?’ Nori hesitated, reluctant to speak, and Óin could guess the answer.

‘No,’ Óin said severely. ‘He did not. Tell me, brother, would you have left the the treasury at all if Nori had not made you?’

‘It was different,’ Glóin argued, sounding angry, as if he were not the one in the wrong. Thorin had thought the gold-sickness cleared but Glóin certainly did not sound as if he had recovered. ‘Nori had to leave the treasury for Ori, there was no reason I could not stay…’

‘No reason except me,’ Óin finished for him with a snarl, ‘and I was not important enough.’ The old healer stared at his brother for a long moment before snorting with disgust once more. ‘You’ll have to forgive me, Thorin. I do not care for the company in here. I will rejoin you later. Though you can, at least, be certain that _I_ will not be sneaking off to fondle gold as if it were more important than my own brother, or a wife and child at home. I will go to the elven camp and seek Malial. Goodnight.’

The Company watched, alarmed, as Óin rose and walked away, exiting the room and slamming the door loudly behind him. In the quiet that followed the sound of Dwalin breaking Glóin’s nose was easily heard.

‘If it would not cause Thorin yet more problems with the Men,’ Dwalin informed his cousin, ‘I would kill you now and save them the trouble of an execution. Blithering idiot. Perhaps I should try bouncing your head off the wall and see if _that_ clears it of this nonsense.’

‘We should have moved him further from the treasure,’ Balin posited. ‘Having him this close cannot be helping.’ Glóin shuffled restlessly at this suggestion and that, if nothing else, made Thorin’s mind up.

‘We will have to seek help from Thranduil after all,’ Thorin sighed. ‘If we can take him down there perhaps Legolas and Tauriel would agree to keep him under guard.’

‘I will not say that we would be happy to,’ Legolas said from the doorway, scaring the life out of almost everyone there, ‘for that would give the wrong impression. We will do it out of friendship, though. For you and for Glóin. I would have him completely broken of the illness as soon as possible.’

‘I had thought him already broken of it,’ Thorin told the Prince, ‘but apparently not.’ How trapped Glóin was in the web of the gold-sickness became readily apparent when they lifted him to his feet, preparing to hand him over to Legolas. Glóin began to fight against their hold on him and it was soon obvious that he was trying to reach Bilbo. Dwalin placed the hobbit firmly behind him and Balin and Bifur joined him rapidly, blocking Bilbo from view. In the end Dori resorted to knocking Glóin unconscious so that he could be taken to the elven camp.

‘We will keep him under close guard and bring him back in the morning,’ Legolas assured Thorin. ‘I will also ask the healers to look at him. Perhaps there is a way to clear the sickness with their talents.’

‘Óin was headed to the healer’s tents when last we saw him,’ Thorin warned. ‘Putting them near each other at this point would not be a good idea.’

‘Oh dear,’ was Legolas’ mild response, though he tightened the grip he had on Glóin, who was slung over his shoulder. ‘This… situation has caused trouble everywhere. I had come to echo my father’s apology for his actions earlier. He is truly sorry, Thorin.’

‘Thank you, Legolas,’ Thorin responded, comforted by the reassurance. ‘I will see your father in the morning, if I may, once we have the unpleasant tasks out of the way.’

‘Of course,’ Legolas agreed. ‘I simply wanted you to know that the Woodland Realm will still support you. When Father is not confusing you with your grandfather like a fool, he is perfectly willing to help in any way he can.’

‘Then let him keep Glóin as far away from Erebor’s treasury as we can manage at the moment and try to cure him,’ Thorin requested. ‘I would rather have all of the Company well before we have to deal with the orcs.’

Legolas nodded in place of the bow he might usually have given, hampered by the weight of the dwarf he carried. Then he left as noiselessly as he had come and Thorin and what remained of his Company were alone once more.

«««

Ori had spent most the late morning and afternoon constantly on tenterhooks, frantically trying to adjust his view of his brother to include what he had learned this day. Before he had, of course, known that Nori was a thief. It was hard to avoid the fact and Mahal knew Nori had never made any attempt to hide it.

This was different though. In Ered Luin, Nori had been happy to tell Ori stories of his adventures in theft. Ori had listened carefully and had understood that Nori would never be the hero of a tale. That was reserved for dwarves like Thorin Oakenshield and his nephews – stalwart and true and burning so brightly with purpose that others, like Ori, would follow them to the ends of the earth. Even to face a dragon.

No, Nori was not meant to be a hero, but he was not a villain either. He was, Ori had decided, the loveable rogue. Nori was the character that you started off wary of. He was not obviously on the side of good and you worried that he might abandon the hero when times became tough. Yet, he did not. He stayed and stayed and did good things under the guise of being bad and eventually you realised that actually you were rooting for him as much as you were the hero. That was always Ori’s brother – the character you wanted to succeed even though you thought you should not.

This was not Nori. Not Nori as Ori had ever known him.

Nori was not stupid. He did not go after prizes he could not possibly win. He did not abandon what needed to be done when things got hard. He did not value what he stole above the lives of his family and his friends. He did not cry in front of anyone. He did not lie to Ori about where he was and what he was doing.

Except that he did. He had. Now Ori was left trying to decide how much else that Nori had told him was lies. Did Ori know this brother he had adored at all?

Ori was not the only one asking such questions, apparently.

Once Legolas had taken Glóin to the elven camp so that he could be put under guard, Dori took Nori firmly by the arm and reeled him in.

‘Thorin, we will return a little later,’ Dori told the King, no hint of the formality and wariness that he had shown Thorin in the beginning apparent. ‘I think it is time that Ori and I talked to Nori.’

‘By all means,’ Thorin responded. ‘I believe we are done here for now. I will let you know what is to happen to Nori tomorrow.’

Even with his newfound cynicism and distrust, Ori felt his stomach churn at the thought of Nori’s punishment. What Nori had done here was akin to treason. Ori was a scribe. He had read all of the major histories of their people. He knew what was done to those who had committed treason.

None of them spoke as Dori guided them to a room nearby, hand still locked like a vice around Nori’s arm. Ori had been slightly scared of his eldest brother ever since the scene with the Master had unfolded. Even knowing that Dori would never hurt him, and that was one thing Ori was still certain of, seeing Dori’s temper so close to the surface frightened him. Dori did not lose his temper often but the last time that he had, the dwarf who had earned his anger had not woken for a week. Other people always seemed to underestimate Dori’s strength.

‘Well, brother,’ Dori said almost as soon as they stepped into the room, ‘what are we to do now?’

‘Do?’ Nori asked, though with none of the defiance that normally coloured his tone when he and Dori argued.

‘Yes, Nori, do,’ Dori responded. ‘You have all but committed treason against our King. Worse, you have betrayed Thorin’s trust after he welcomed us into his family despite the hundreds of years that the Durin line has spent all but denying our existence. How are we to wipe that stain out?’

‘Thorin will decide upon my punishment tomorrow,’ Nori said in confusion. ‘You heard him say so before we left.’

‘Yes, he will. That is his right as our King and I will leave him to it happily. My concern is for the reputation of our family and the well-being of our brother.’

Ori nearly gave himself whiplash, so quickly did his head snap up to look at Dori. His eldest brother had been so much better about not smothering Ori to death since they had talked in the Woodland Realm. Surely he could not go backwards now. Well, he would not. Ori would not let him.

‘Ori is being trained to be the steward for the royal family,’ Dori continued on. ‘It is a position that will put him on display before our people. What they say of you will affect how they treat Ori as Balin finishes his training and when he eventually takes over. I think it is only fair that he gets to decide whether he wishes to continue acknowledging one whose crimes could taint everything he has been working for.’

Oh Mahal! Ori had… well, he could not say he had not thought of that. He was not an idiot. In the last few hours he had conjured many possible repercussions of Nori’s actions and this had been one of them. He had not expected to have to face it immediately, though.

Now both of his brothers were staring at him and Ori found himself lost for words. It always seemed to come down to this in the end. Ori having to choose between them. Perhaps they did not realise how much they had turned things into a competition for his affection over the years, but sometimes it just became too much.

‘I won’t do it,’ Ori told them both. When they simply looked at him in confusion he realised that they truly did not know what they were doing. Wonderful. Now he would have to explain it.

‘I won’t choose a side,’ Ori informed them, trying to make his voice firm and confident. ‘If you want to have this argument then have it between you. I am angry with Nori, too, but do not make everything about me. If you are angry, Dori, let it be on your own behalf. He has hurt you as well.’

Comprehension spread over Dori’s face, Nori only a second behind him. They both looked more than a little ashamed of themselves.

‘I am sorry, akhûnith,’ Dori said sadly. ‘I did not mean to make it seem as if you had to make a choice.’ For a moment Ori debated whether to say what he wished to. Part of him felt that they had enough problems right now without adding more. He knew that it had to be said though. The two of them had let this go on for long enough.

‘You never say what you really mean to each other,’ Ori explained. ‘Every argument you have is based around me. What is good for me, what is not, whether Nori should be allowed near me, whether Dori is smothering me. I am old enough now to make those decisions for myself. It is not for the two of you to decide what I will do. You need to clear the air between you. I will not be a part of it. When you have done so I will talk to Nori and we will see whether I can forgive him. I will see you both later.’

The hurt in the room was palpable. A few months ago, Ori would have quailed before it and taken back everything he had just said. Not now. He had fought orcs and wargs and goblins and a dragon and would likely fight more orcs in the weeks to come. He was no longer a child. Ori did not cower. He left the room, and his brothers, behind.

«««

‘I think we raised him too well,’ Nori found himself saying to Dori as Ori closed the door softly behind him. He could have smacked himself. Levity would _not_ appease Dori when he was in this mood.

‘Let him survive the next few weeks and I will agree with you,’ Dori responded, still looking sadly at the door Ori had left through. Despite all else, Nori did not like to see Dori so mournful. He did love his brother.

‘He had to grow up eventually, Dori,’ Nori pointed out gently.

‘I know,’ Dori acknowledged. ‘I am not quite the fool you all think me. I never expected him to stay a child. I just didn’t want…’

‘Didn’t want?’ Nori questioned when Dori fell silent. This quiet introspection was not what Nori had expected when Ori made his announcement. The lack of shouting was slightly unnerving.

‘I didn’t want to have to give him up quite so soon,’ Dori said, voice still filled with great sorrow. ‘It will never be the same now that he is grown. It was not the same with you.’

‘Dori?’ Nori asked, shocked.

‘You loved me when you were a child,’ Dori told him. ‘I remember that. You would come home from your lessons and come to find me wherever I was, wanting to tell me all that you had learned. I spent days with you trailing me from one place to the next or demanding to be put up on my shoulders. You were not ashamed of me then. That only started once you decided you were an adult.’

‘Dori, it was not like that,’ Nori argued, though he knew there was a lie in the statement. He had been ashamed of Dori. He was so fussy, so prim and proper, so determined to live above their station. The people Nori had made his friends when he took up thievery laughed at Dori’s mannerisms and so Nori had too. The more Dori tried to draw him back into the circle of their family, the harder he had fought to escape. Their parents were dead by that point. Nori’s job was necessary to feed and clothe Ori. Dori’s insistence on pretending that they had not _both_ done things they were ashamed of to see their brother cared for had infuriated Nori at the time.

‘I am not stupid, Nori, no matter what you may think,’ Dori responded, mouth twisting sourly. ‘I heard the things you said to your friends when you thought I could not hear. You loved crime a great deal more than you ever loved me. You still do, apparently.’

‘This was not about you,’ Nori insisted, ‘or about Ori. It was foolish and weak but it was not because of you. I _left_ that room because of you.’

‘You left the room because of Ori,’ Dori told him with great certainty. ‘In the end, Nori, I only ever asked one thing of you, one… proof of affection, I suppose Ori would say. I asked, when we had ourselves back on our feet, that you stop stealing. You refused. Now you have endangered your own life and those of others for your love of things we could not afford to buy. That says it all clearly enough.’

‘You asked me to give up something I was good at so that you would not have to be embarrassed by me any longer,’ Nori said, voice raised as they finally got to the heart of an old argument.

‘I asked you to make yourself _safe_ ,’ Dori shouted back. ‘I asked you to take one step to ensure that I would never have to watch you hung for theft, or beaten black and blue by the guard when they finally caught up with you. They are not all so honourable as Dwalin, you know that! I asked you to live safely with us and you wanted none of it.’

Nori had been playing with one of his knives as they spoke. Dwalin and Dori had judged him free enough from the gold-sickness that they had allowed him to keep his weapons. The feel of the knife flicking over his fingers was comforting, a reminder of many nights spent waiting for the guard to get bored and give up. He had never felt particularly unsafe in his work. Nori was one of the best in the trade, he had not thought himself in danger of being caught. When Dori had told him to stop he had seen nothing but the endless fussing of his fuddy-duddy brother.

Now… well, nothing seemed the same now. Nori had always thought himself too strong to be caught by the gold-sickness too. Anyone could see how well that had turned out. In all his years of thievery, Nori had trained his body to be entirely under his own control. He had prided himself on the knowledge that he planned every move he made, gave nothing away unless he intended to.

He didn’t even remember putting that ruby in his pocket.

He remembered seeing it, yes. Remembered thinking how well it would suit Ori, if it were cut down and fashioned into something more delicate than a huge gem you could bash a dwarf’s skull in with. Remembered admiring it before moving on to something else that had caught his eye.

He didn’t remember putting it in his pocket.

Somehow, either his body or his mind had betrayed him. He had known that the moment Ori had pulled the ruby from his coat.

If he was wrong about his ability to control himself, what else was he wrong about?

‘I do love you,’ was the only thing that Nori could think to say. The only thing that might make this right. ‘I love both of you more than anything. More than theft, more than jewels, more than that dragon-cursed gold. I didn’t just come down for Ori. I came for both of you.’

Dori stared at him for a long time. In all the cons that Nori had pulled over the years, the bait-and-switches meant to distract a wealthier mark, even the last job which had gone more than slightly wrong, he had never found himself so thoroughly measured. It was horribly nerve-wracking.

Then Dori nodded abruptly.

‘You are on your own with Ori,’ Dori told him. ‘He is, as people are so fond of pointing out, perfectly capable of deciding things for himself. I will only tell you this – either you give up theft as a living or we part here. I will never stop acknowledging you as my brother but I will not see you. If you are to get yourself killed, perhaps it will hurt less if we are distant. I am cowardly enough to take that chance.’

Dori paused. He made one abortive movement, then paused again. Finally, he reached out and drew Nori in for a hug. Dori’s hugs had always been fierce. He clung to Nori as if sheer strength of grip could stop his brother leaving him.

‘Think well, brother,’ Dori said at last, when he had released Nori. ‘I will do what I can to make things right with Thorin.’

Then Dori, too, left. Nori had never felt so alone in his life.

«««

Thorin did not have to wait long for Ori to return to the hall. The young scribe had barely been gone a few minutes before he came in and moved to sit with Bilbo and Bofur. They spoke seriously for a moment before Ori shook his head slightly and Bofur made a clear effort to lighten the tone of the conversation. Thorin wasn’t sure what to make of Ori’s reappearance but he had decided that family matters should stay between the families. Mahal knew he was not one to be advising people on how to deal with their problems.

Rather than worry too much about what Dori and Nori were currently doing, though he did hope that they were not murdering each other, Thorin turned his mind to the problem of what to do with Nori. The thief was not to be involved in the main punishment for Glóin the next day but Thorin could not set a precedent by allowing Nori’s law-breaking to go unpunished. He was turning the question over and over in his mind but felt as if he was getting nowhere.

‘It’s a hard one, isn’t it?’ Balin said as he sat down next to Thorin with a groan. ‘Oh, it is going to take some time for my body to forgive me for the abuse I have been giving it of late.’

‘It will be no fonder of you in the days to come,’ Thorin pointed out. ‘We have an orcish army on the way.’

‘Do not remind me,’ Balin muttered glumly. ‘I may never move again.’

‘You are not so old as that,’ Thorin told him teasingly.

‘Tell that to my aching bones,’ Balin responded, unconvinced.

‘Are you moaning again, Brother?’ Dwalin asked as he joined them. ‘You are as bad as an old woman.’

‘Be silent, pup,’ Balin said dismissively. ‘I did not teach you to insult your betters.’

‘Only my elders,’ Dwalin retorted.

‘I was trying to deal with serious business, if the two of you do not mind,’ Thorin pointed out.

‘Not at all, laddie,’ Balin agreed gracefully. ‘Do not let us stop you.’ Dwalin sobered at the reminder.

‘What do you mean to do with Nori?’ he asked Thorin. Thorin could only shrug in return.

‘I have not the faintest idea. How do you punish a betrayal when it follows someone risking life and limb to retake your kingdom? It is different with Glóin, murder is a crime whatever the circumstance. I can’t shake the feeling that punishing Nori is going to bring more problems than it solves, though. Perhaps I should just let him off,’ he finished, though he was not convinced.

‘I do not think that would be wise, Thorin,’ Balin warned him. ‘There were too many people who saw Dori seize Nori and heard you question Glóin _and_ Nori about what they had been doing. If you do not punish him it will seem as if Glóin and Fíli’s shearings are only for show.’

‘So what do I do with him?’ Thorin questioned.

‘Strip him of his share of the treasure,’ Dwalin suggested. ‘It seems like an apt punishment to me. If he was so eager to abandon his duty for it then take it from him. It will save us the trouble of keeping an eye on him once all of this is done, anyway, and you can make that the share of the money that goes towards rebuilding Dale. Glóin’s share can be placed in trust for Gimli when he is old enough to use it, with Famla controlling it until then. She will make sure Glóin does not fall ill again.’

‘That could work,’ Balin agreed. ‘The Men need know only that they have both been denied their reward for reaching the end of the quest. The fact that Dori and Ori will take care of Nori, and that Famla will have access to Glóin’s share, is none of their concern. It should satisfy all involved.’

‘Then we will do that,’ Thorin agreed, relieved to have another problem solved. Perhaps Glóin would even thank him for it, once he was back in his right mind. Thorin would not want temptation that close. It was bad enough knowing that the Arkenstone was only across the room in Bilbo’s keeping.

«««

Half an hour or more passed before Dori returned without Nori in tow. Ori shot his brother a questioning glance and Dori squeezed his shoulder gently.

‘He will follow me soon, I imagine,’ Dori told Ori. ‘He has some thinking to do before that.’ Ori accepted the explanation and settled back into his conversation. Dwalin, on the other hand, rose from his position by Thorin.

‘I’ll just see that he isn’t doing that thinking anywhere I’d disapprove of,’ Dwalin murmured dryly to Thorin. ‘I’d hate to see the lad get himself into any more trouble.’

‘Bring him back here,’ Thorin commanded. ‘I want him where I can see him for a while.’

‘Agreed,’ Dwalin replied, before he took off to find Nori.

When Thorin heard the door open with a bang a few minutes later, he shot to his feet instinctively, reaching for his sword in the belief that something must have gone wrong.

Instead he saw Eric Draper and Bain, gasping for breath whilst trying to deliver a message simultaneously.

‘Breathe, lads,’ Balin told them with much amusement. ‘We’ll not understand anything you say like that.’

They obeyed and Bain leant back against the wall, tilting his head back as he tried to even his breathing out. Once they had recovered, Bain tried again.

‘King Thorin, Da said you need to come quickly. There’s a wizard and a lot of elves asking for you.’

‘Well,’ Dwalin drawled as he came in with Nori, ‘he took his own sweet time turning up. Let’s see what he has to say for himself.’

««««««


	29. Gathering Power

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erebor receives some unexpected guests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be a long author note - I apologise in advance.
> 
> First, you are getting a shorter chapter today. I am with family this weekend and I doubt I'll be able to get much writing done. I think ignoring them in favour of The Hobbit might be considered rude :D So I am giving you this now and hopefully the next part will be up next week.
> 
> Second, I have mentioned a few times in the comments the possibility that I might write a sequel to History, in which I try to figure out how my blatant abuse of canon would affect other events we know and love - would people be interested in reading something like that? I will probably end up writing it anyway but I wondered what you would all think.
> 
> Thirdly, I have promised ISeeFire a couple of AU/outtake oneshots from History - such as Bard getting squished by the dragon - and if I did write a sequel I would probably try a number of those to keep me writing whilst I try plot it out. Are they any scenes people would like me to try writing? They can be pretty much anything vaguely related to History (including pairings, if I can work out how to write them) as I'd be using them as a sort of writing exercise :)
> 
> Right, long author note over. On to the chapter!

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Gathering Power

‘It has been some time since we have seen you, Gandalf,’ Thorin said when they were finally before each other once more. ‘Has all been well?’

‘As well as it could have been,’ Gandalf responded briskly. ‘I cannot say my task has been easy, any more than yours has, but then I never expected it to be.’

‘No more than I did,’ Thorin answered. At that point Bilbo decided to join the conversation.

‘Thank goodness you’re finally here,’ their hobbit announced to Gandalf. ‘Here, take this, I’ve had quite enough of the dratted thing for one lifetime, thank you very much.’

With these (hopefully _not_ immortal) words, Bilbo thrust the Arkenstone at Gandalf as one might hold out a babe that has begun to cry, or something even less pleasant. Gandalf, to Thorin’s amusement, looked truly startled for once.

‘What is this?’ the wizard asked, having no choice but to take the stone from Bilbo. ‘The Arkenstone? Thorin, might I enquire about _why_ Bilbo is giving _me_ the Arkenstone?’

‘It was agreed between us that that would be the best choice,’ Thorin told him, then more dryly as he looked at Bilbo, ‘though I confess I was not expecting him to all but throw it at you.’

‘Do not look at me like that, Thorin Oakenshield!’ Bilbo scolded him. ‘Glóin just tried to get through _Dwalin_ to get that off me. I have no intention of keeping it any longer than I have to.’

There were a number of stifled chuckles at this exchange, many from his own Company and others from assorted elves nearby. Thorin did not join them, though he would confess himself tempted. Trust Bilbo to make them laugh, even about the cursed jewel of his Line.

‘Why, exactly, was it felt that I was the best choice?’ Gandalf queried quite sharply, clearly aiming his question at Thorin. ‘Why did there need to be a choice? I had thought the Arkenstone would reside within Erebor.’

‘Gandalf, much has happened to all of us since last we were together and Bilbo is still not entirely healed. Might we at least sit down before we begin?’

‘My people have prepared a pavilion, if that would suit all here,’ Thranduil interjected without awaiting Gandalf’s reply. Thorin noticed more than one of the elves eyeing Thranduil with much curiosity and wondered how much fun the King was having by baffling them.

‘I think that would be a wonderful idea,’ someone said then. When Thorin looked in the direction of the sound he realised that the speaker could only be the Lady Galadriel. No other could manage to look so regal whilst stood in a circle in a field.

‘Then let us….’ Gandalf began, only to be abruptly cut off.

‘Thorin!’ Dain shouted loudly, pushing his way through the Company. Thorin could have sworn Dain had been there when they had all assembled but the other dwarf had clearly been all but running to get to them. ‘I will not be put off any longer. You will explain what you are about, offering to give priceless artefacts away.’

‘Dain,’ Dwalin said warningly, moving forward to try and intercept their cousin.

‘Quiet, guard-dog,’ Dain snapped in return. Every member of the Company stiffened. Balin released a noise Thorin could only describe as a snarl, whilst Bifur, Bilbo, Thorin’s nephews and Dori all reached toward their weapons. Thorin noticed Nori moving silently to stand behind Dain and thought, fervently, _please_ do not let him do anything stupid.

‘Dain,’ Thorin said firmly, trying to keep his voice calm. Dain was asking for trouble and Thorin would so dearly love to let the Company loose. ‘I am sure you have no more desire to cause a spectacle before all your people than I would. Let us go to the pavilion Thranduil has raised and then talk. I am sorry it seemed as if I was avoiding you. I had much to do yesterday that could not wait.’

This did not visibly improve Dain’s mood but it did at least lead him to giving a jerky nod and following Thranduil when he began to move. Thorin did not hurry after him. He would not make himself look like a servant, rushing to join his master. Instead he made sure to be close to Dwalin.

‘Brother, I will give you all the ale I can lay my hands on if you will let that go,’ Thorin muttered to Dwalin out of the corner of his mouth. Dwalin made a show of considering the offer.

‘Give me the right to throw the blowhard into the Lake if he causes trouble and I may consider it,’ Dwalin bartered. Thorin was not foolish enough to take the bargain though. Dwalin was not above exploiting loopholes to get his own way, including the definition of the word trouble. Balin had taught him too well.

‘The ale is all you’re getting, Dwalin,’ Thorin warned him. ‘I am not a smith at market to be haggled with.’

‘ _All_ the ale you can get your hands on,’ Dwalin reminded him. Thorin was just relieved that the deal was done. In Erebor of old that insult would have earned Dain a duel to the death. Thorin had banned such things soon after Thror died and Thrain disappeared. There were few enough of his people left as it was.

«««

Thorin remembered looking down upon the forces arrayed for the Battle of the Five Armies in his previous life and despairing of their chances. The Men, Dwarves and Elves gathered then had seemed completely insufficient to deal with the army that would stand against them.

Looking around him, he wondered if any army save that of Morgoth himself could survive the forces they would have prepared this time.

With Gandalf had come the Lady Galadriel and her consort, Celeborn, escorted by what looked to be all the warriors they could spare from Lothlórien. Knowing what he did now about the power Galadriel had at her disposal, Thorin had hope that she would be able to help with the gold-sickness that had afflicted Glóin. The lack of expression on their faces, and the slightly toneless voice which he had heard Celeborn use, was unnerving but Thorin did not think he had much to fear from the Golden Wood.

Even more reassuring, for Thorin at least, was the appearance of Elrond and his sons along with an elf who could only be Glorfindel. All elves had a light about them that was perceptible at times but Glorfindel seemed to blaze like the sun even on the slightly overcast day they were having. Thorin could clearly see why Legolas had been so enthusiastic about having such a fighter on his side when he faced the evil within Mirkwood. Glorfindel gave every impression of one who had faced the worst the world had to offer and had no fear of anything to come.

All in all, Thorin was surrounded by more elves than he had ever seen in his life. It was a very strange feeling, to be relying so completely on those he would previously have scorned in favour of his own people. Now, somehow, Dain had come to be a problem whilst Thranduil and Elrond could be considered allies, though not always easy ones.

‘Thorin,’ Dain said almost as soon as they were seated, ‘I will have my answers now.’ Patience was clearly not Dain’s defining virtue.

‘You shall,’ Thorin agreed. ‘I do not believe that there is anything to be particularly concerned about, though. I will be asking Gandalf to take the Arkenstone and have it kept somewhere safe, so it will be in no danger of being lost to our people. I simply do not feel comfortable keeping it in Erebor. It has been the cause of far too much strife for our people, especially in the last few days.’

‘Yes and that is something I would like to know more about,’ Gandalf interposed quickly. ‘There has been much happening here, apparently.’

‘Gandalf, perhaps we might allow Thorin to finish his conversation with his cousin before we divert to another topic,’ Thranduil said patiently. ‘I do not think that jumping from one discussion to the next is going to be particularly helpful to us.’

For that alone Thorin would forgive Thranduil his earlier lapse. Gandalf’s face was a sight to behold. The wizard was a powerful force for good but, like many powerful forces, he was rather too used to getting his own way. Thorin was very grateful to be among those who would not allow Gandalf to ride roughshod over the conversation.

Dain seemed somewhat mollified by Thranduil’s words, at least. Had Dain gone about all of this differently Thorin would have had much sympathy with him. Mahal knew he could understand the frustration of trying to get to the bottom of something and being constantly ignored. Shouting at Thorin and insulting Dwalin were not the way to gain a fair hearing though.

‘Dain, what _is_ your concern here?’ Balin asked then. ‘I am unsure why you object so strongly.’

‘Why?’ Dain replied incredulously. ‘Thorin is planning to give away the most important possession of the line of Durin and you wish to know _why I object_?’

‘Cousin, I do not wish to give away our most important possession,’ Thorin explained wearily. ‘Erebor has just been reclaimed. I rather think that is more important than one jewel, no matter how unusual.’

‘It is the Heart of the Mountain!’ Dain argued back.

‘Our _people_ are the heart of the Mountain, Dain,’ was Balin’s response.

‘Pretty words are of no use to me,’ Dain responded to Balin dismissively. ‘My people do not live in Erebor. We have no need of another mountain.’

‘And what need have you of the Arkenstone, Dain?’ Thorin asked, suddenly suspicious. ‘For if it was not given to Gandalf it would reside within Erebor and so be of no use to you either.’

Dain went suddenly silent. The air in the pavilion became tense and all of Thorin’s Company fixed their eyes upon Dain. Those dwarves that Dain had brought with him, many of them old councillors whom Thorin recognised, shifted under the scrutiny.

‘Cousin?’ Thorin questioned, keeping his tone curious rather than outwardly distrustful.

‘If you are to give it to Gandalf, why not let the Iron Hills have it instead?’ Dain queried in response. Thorin felt the same foreboding he experienced when he was targeted by an enemy standing out of sight. This was treacherous ground and he could not tread carefully enough.

‘I have seen my grandfather attempt to run into the treasury Smaug had just taken from us to retrieve the Arkenstone,’ Thorin said slowly. ‘Only this morning Glóin killed a man because he made the same argument that you just have. Something about this jewel strips sensible people of all reason, Dain. That is a poor gift for anyone to give to another, especially their own kin.’

‘Yet you would give it to the wizard,’ Dain responded, posture rigid and tone sharp.

‘I would ask Gandalf to guard it for us,’ Thorin told him. ‘It is not a gift, Dain, it is a charge I lay upon him. I have hope that a wizard might be less affected by the evil than we are.’

‘Evil,’ Dain scoffed. ‘You are scared by children’s tales, Thorin. What evil can there be in a stone?’

‘What evil could there be in any object?’ Lady Galadriel asked, breaking the invisible barrier that had grown up between the dwarves and the other delegations. ‘To covet something for its beauty without any concern for the consequences is an evil all of its own, Dain, son of Nain. That my people learned long ago.’

‘The problems of elves are of little concern to dwarves,’ Dain responded. Now Thorin was certain that Dain was not himself. He had never known his cousin to be so rude or so unwise in his rudeness. Dain seemed entirely unaware of the fact that Galadriel was one of the most dangerous people present. Either way, Thorin had had quite enough of gold-sick dwarves for one day.

‘On the contrary, Dain,’ he said immediately, voice as sharp as cut diamond, ‘the problems of the other races of Middle Earth are of great concern to me. Though I am currently even more worried about the problems of my fellow dwarves. This attitude is not like you at all.’

‘It strikes me that you are concerned about far too much, Thorin,’ Dain sneered. ‘You have become a fretful old woman, seeing danger everywhere and jumping at shadows on the floor. Such paranoia is hardly the trait of a strong king – perhaps Erebor would fare better under another ruler.’

Suddenly, the Company were on their feet and moving forward, hands drawing weapons as they went.

‘Hold!’ Thorin bellowed, more interested in preventing a fight than his dignity. His heart lightened the tiniest bit when every one of his companions halted instantly.

‘That is treason, Dain,’ Fíli said, voice and body vibrating with anger, ‘whether you are of Erebor or not!’

‘Easy, Fíli,’ Thorin told his nephew gently, determined to hold his own nerve even in the face of this blatant challenge. ‘Dain has said nothing that he cannot take back. We all say things in haste that we might repent at leisure.’ Dain snorted with derision.

‘Look at you,’ he jeered at Thorin. ‘Pitiful. Are you even a dwarf any more, Thorin Oakenshield? You sound like an elf, too cowardly to pit your will against a jewel and too craven to fight for what is yours. You might as well give me Erebor now and save yourself the trouble of losing it piece by piece to your tree-loving friends.’

‘I shall give you nothing,’ Thorin responded, ice in his voice and eyes. If Dain wished to speak to the King of Erebor let him do so. Thorin was of Durin’s own line, descended directly from the eldest of the Seven Fathers of the Dwarves. Dain might be of his line, and he might claim the Lordship of the Iron Hills, but he was not King here, nor would he be in this lifetime. Thorin would hold this throne and pass it to Fíli on his death, as it should always have been. Time Dain was, as Dwalin had said, put back in his place.

‘Listen well, Dain, for I will not give you a second warning. Erebor is reclaimed for my people and with my family shall it remain. I hold its throne and the right to its heirlooms, including the Arkenstone, to do with as I wish. It is my decree that the Arkenstone will not remain in Erebor or with any King or Lord of Middle Earth. It will be given to Gandalf to guard as he wishes, preferably where it cannot be found by any fool blind to the risk it poses. If you try to take it, you will be stopped. If you try to take my kingdom, you will find it the last mistake you ever make. Is that clear enough for you, Dain, or need I say it in Khuzdul that you might find my words sufficiently dwarven for you?’

Dain appeared frozen, face arrested in an expression of startled fear. No one in the pavilion moved or spoke. Outside the noises of any large camp could be heard, the murmur of conversation and the occasional clangs and rattles of equipment being used and moved. Inside there was nothing. Only waiting.

‘I would answer him were I you, lad,’ Balin advised when no reply came from Dain. ‘You would not like him to get the wrong idea.’ The words seemed to bring Dain back to life and this time when he looked at Thorin he seemed familiar, though Thorin would admit that he had never witnessed that particular expression on Dain’s face before. Abject dismay, as he realised what he had been doing and saying, were not a common feeling for the Lord of the Iron Hills.

‘I... Thorin, I....’ Dain seemed lost for words for a time, visibly unnerved by what had happened. Finally he recovered himself and spoke more steadily. ‘You are understood, Cousin,’ Dain said with a deep bow. Far deeper, in fact, than the bow Thorin would normally be accorded by a fellow Lord. ‘The Iron Hills have no quarrel with Erebor.’

That was clearly untrue. Three of the dwarves who had come with Dain were visibly displeased by his words and those were only the ones unwise enough to show their displeasure. Had they come, Thorin wondered, expecting to find Thorin without allies and Erebor ready for the taking? If so they were going to be extremely disappointed.

‘Lord Dain,’ Celeborn spoke clearly from across the tent, no hint of his mood in his voice. ‘You spoke most impolitely to my wife some moments ago. An apology would not go amiss.’

Horror unfurled across Dain’s face at the realisation of just how many of the great and powerful had witnessed his dismissal of Galadriel’s words. Crossing the tent he bowed again, though not so low as he had to Thorin. Dain had been raised to rule the Iron Hills and his own nobles were with him. He would not risk too great a show of humility before an Elven ruler, not even one he had so clearly insulted.

‘Lady Galadriel, my apologies,’ Dain offered. ‘My words were hastily said and unwisely chosen.’

Reaching out swiftly, Galadriel pressed a hand to his brow. Dain did not even have time to react before she had withdrawn her hand once more.

‘The taint is still there but it fades rapidly,’ Galadriel pronounced. Thorin was surprised to realise she aimed her words directly at him. ‘I do not believe you need fear a relapse.’

‘That is good to know, my lady, thank you,’ Thorin replied, allowing true gratitude into his voice.

‘Could you cure it, my lady?’ Óin broke in, urgent but not disrespectful. When Galadriel and Celeborn both turned piercing gazes upon him he flushed very slightly. Thorin had not even known that Óin could feel embarrassment. ‘I am sorry,’ Óin continued, ‘only it is my brother…’ he trailed off, not sure how to finish the sentence.

Galadriel’s face, at least, softened. She crossed the tent swiftly, yet somehow without the slightest appearance of hurrying.

‘Take me to him,’ she told Óin kindly, ‘and we will see what I may do. Even if I cannot help, Lord Elrond may be able to.’

‘Of course,’ Elrond said immediately, joining them. ‘Had I realised Glóin was still unwell I would have offered before, Master Óin. I know the heartache of being unable to heal your family of their ills.’

‘Thank you,’ Óin replied sincerely. Thorin had not considered how much frustration might have coloured Óin’s reaction to his brother in the last few hours. No doubt there was anger as well. Thorin had not let go of all of his own anger at Glóin and he had the memory of his own gold-sickness to soften his attitude. Now Thorin realised that seeing Glóin suffering a sickness of the mind, rather than an illness of the body which he could heal, must have hurt Óin deeply. In Thorin’s experience, there was little healers hated more than an illness they could not cure.

‘We may not return immediately,’ Galadriel said then, though she directed the words to her husband. ‘It might be best to save the rest of the discussion for later.’

‘Night is closing in,’ Elrond added. ‘We still have time before the orcs arrive, it may be best to rest now and speak again in the morning.’

‘They are coming?’ Thorin asked quickly. He had been almost certain but it did not hurt to have confirmation.

‘They are,’ Elrond told him, ‘but we are three days ahead of them by my estimate. We left scouts behind to track their progress and warn us of their arrival. We will not be taken unawares.’

‘Then let it be tomorrow,’ Thranduil said firmly. ‘An exhausted army is not what we will need in battle and our minds will be clearer for the rest.’ No one argued and Galadriel and Elrond left the tent in Óin’s company. This seemed to be a signal for the rest and the council broke up. Thorin had wanted to have more resolved by now but perhaps it was better to go forward without worrying that he had a snake in the grass waiting to bite him. The morning would see the punishments meted out and then, hopefully, the whole sorry mess could be left behind and they could move onto the next major calamity. Surely they would have to run out of those eventually.

«««

‘I have an apology to make,’ Thranduil said as he and Thorin exited the pavilion. The Elven King had lost no time in joining Thorin and Thorin was aware of a number of curious glances yet again. He supposed that to an outsider their friendship would appear to be a very strange development – the dwarven king with a known dislike of elves and the elven king who was no fonder of dwarves.

‘It has been made,’ Thorin responded. ‘Legolas came to us earlier and we spoke of what happened.’

‘I very much doubt that you would think well of me if I allowed Legolas to make my apologies for me,’ Thranduil commented knowingly and Thorin relented slightly. Up to this point he had been keeping his eyes locked firmly on the path he was treading through the encampment but now he met Thranduil’s own.

‘Probably not,’ Thorin admitted. ‘It would not be a particularly convincing apology.’

‘Then let me make a better one,’ Thranduil requested, stopping in the middle of the path between the tents and causing Thorin to stop as well. ‘I am sorry, Thorin. I acted irrationally in a moment of… panic, almost, and in doing so I both insulted you and demeaned all that you have done to bring us past instinctive distrust. The alliance between Erebor and the Woodland Realm is important to me, as is your friendship, I hope I have not damaged it irreparably.’

Once, Thorin had almost admired Thranduil’s ability to evade giving a direct apology for wrongdoing. Now he admired the bravery it took to offer one blatantly to one who had only just become a friend. Thranduil had no way of being certain that Thorin would not throw the apology back in his face.

Thorin would not though. He, too, valued the alliance between the kingdoms and the friendship of his fellow king. It helped to know that he had said far worse things to Thranduil in another life. Perhaps offering his own forgiveness to those who wronged him would make Thorin a little less guilty about all the insults he had given once.

‘Very well, let us consider it forgiven then,’ Thorin replied, ‘and I will look forward to receiving the same favour when I inevitably have a bad day and do something which offends you.’

Thranduil laughed quietly and began walking once more. ‘I assure you,’ he told Thorin wryly, ‘that I will bear this moment in mind in the future.’

‘Good,’ Thorin said decisively. ‘Now tell me this – exactly how much fun have you been having, watching everyone try to work out what has changed about you?’

Now Thranduil’s laughter was not quiet at all.

‘More than you can possibly imagine, mellon,’ Thranduil answered blithely. ‘I am working to see if I can get Celeborn to show actual emotion. I will let you know if I succeed!’

««««««


	30. Intents and Purposes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding meaning in tragedy is often the hardest task.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, another long wait for this one. I am very sorry! This one fought me for a few days and it was receiving some lovely comments, as well as help from ISeeFire, that helped me kick it into shape. So thank you all very much :D

Chapter Thirty: Intents and Purposes

Entering the healer’s tent after a summons from Galadriel, Thorin was not sure how to feel. The first sight that met him was that of Glóin weeping inconsolably on a cot. Óin, Galadriel and Elrond stood nearby. Thorin was relieved at the evidence that Glóin was back to himself but to see his proud friend crying in front of such company was tragic. The anger Thorin felt at Glóin was not gone, but it withered greatly in the face of such pain.

‘Glóin,’ Thorin spoke hesitantly, not sure what to do. Glóin’s head came up and he gazed despairingly in Thorin’s direction.

‘I did not mean it,’ he gasped out, making a visible effort to get a hold of himself. ‘Thorin, I did not, I _would_ not...’

‘Yet you did, Glóin,’ Thorin said gently. Wretched as it was, Glóin could not be allowed to disclaim all responsibility. It had happened.

‘I know,’ Glóin responded, looking both shattered and confused. ‘I do not know what came over me. It doesn’t even feel as if it was me, though I know it was. Why would I do that?’

That, of course, was one question which Thorin could not answer. He still did not really understand what had made him so susceptible to the gold-sickness, though he had a feeling that his sheer desperation to reclaim what had been lost must have played a part. What had made Glóin fall so far? How could he even begin to guess?

‘It is our greatest weakness sometimes, Master Glóin,’ Elrond told him gently, ‘the belief that we know ourselves well enough to predict what we will do in any situation. No one can ever truly say what they would or would not do until they have or have not done it. No dwarf, elf, or man… or hobbit. I am sure Master Baggins has done a great many things of late that he once thought himself incapable of.’

‘But Bilbo’s surprises have been good,’ Glóin answered somewhat bitterly. ‘Not the sort where he finds that he is capable of killing a man over metal and rock.’

‘Good or no,’ Galadriel interposed then, ‘the result for each of you will be the same. You know now something about yourself that you did not before. I will not tell you not to grieve or not to feel ashamed. That would be a foolish suggestion for you cannot wall off your emotions. Instead I will say to learn from what you have discovered. There is always some good in even the worst of situations if we can learn from them. Perhaps you will define strength differently now and so look more kindly upon others who are not so strong. Or perhaps you will value that which you have more highly now that you can see the danger of yearning for that which you do not have. I cannot say what good you will glean from all of this, only that there will be some if you look long and hard to find it.’

‘Famla…’ Glóin began before trailing off.

‘Famla married you because she loved you, even though you’ve taken far too many hits to the head over the years,’ Óin told him gruffly. ‘She will make your life a living torment but she will not abandon you.’

‘She should,’ Glóin responded darkly. ‘She would likely do better on her own with Gimli after all of this.’

‘That,’ Galadriel told him, solemn but with a slightly mischievous look in her eyes, ‘should probably be a decision that you leave up to her. Telling her how to feel is not likely to end well.’

‘No,’ Glóin said, more calmly than he had spoken since Thorin entered. ‘It does not normally.’

‘Glóin,’ Thorin ventured to ask then, ‘you do remember the price we have agreed to pay?’

‘I do,’ Glóin replied gravely. ‘You need not fear that I will argue. Gimli may find his father a murderer and a fool but he will not find him a coward. I will take my punishment.’

‘I would not have accepted it had I felt there was a better option,’ Thorin said, not sure if that was meant to be a reassurance or not. He was very much wrong-footed here. Did he treat Glóin as a criminal or a brother-in-arms? The impulses were entirely conflicting but he felt them both.

‘I left you short of options,’ Glóin acknowledged. Terrible though it was, Thorin was struck anew by how good it was to see the dwarf he knew in Glóin’s willingness to accept the guilt for what had happened. He did not wish Glóin to suffer, not _this_ Glóin, but had his friend railed against fate now he would worry that Glóin was still cursed. This was a dwarf he remembered though. Even when they were young, Glóin had always been the type to step forward and claim responsibility for a joke gone wrong or a mistake made. Thorin had seen more than one of their fellows shamed into a confession by Glóin’s blunt honesty, where they might otherwise have tried to hide from the consequences of their actions. In that, Glóin was much like Fíli. It made the punishment they would face in the morning even more ironic. It was that instinct to shoulder the blame that had caused Fíli to offer himself up to appease the Men.

‘I would avoid Kíli for awhile,’ Thorin advised Glóin, unable to find anything else to say.

‘I will stay here,’ Glóin said firmly, ‘if Thranduil will allow it. The Company will probably feel more comfortable without me there. Kíli is not the only one who was furious with me, though his forgiveness might be easier to win than Dwalin’s. Either way you and Balin were right. The further I am from the gold the better.’

‘Gandalf has the Arkenstone now,’ Thorin offered, certain that this was meant to be a reassurance. ‘He will, with luck, keep it safely away from all of us.’ A tiny amount of tension left Glóin and Thorin was glad he could do _something_ that would help.

‘As for the gold,’ Elrond said then, ‘Lady Galadriel and I would visit it, if you will allow, Thorin? We would take Gandalf with us as well if he will come.’

‘Curiosity, Lord Elrond?’ Thorin asked, not entirely comfortable with the idea of yet more people near the blasted gold, no matter how powerful the magic they wielded. Galadriel had reminded Dain that elves were not entirely immune to the lure of treasure and Thorin knew that she had spoken truly.

‘In a way,’ Elrond responded, though his tone suggested that he was not entirely happy at the implication in Thorin’s question. ‘I have no great familiarity with dragons or their magic and I had wondered if perhaps the gold itself might carry some trace of Smaug after so many years in his possession. It might account for its ability to ensnare others so easily.’

That had not been the case with Thror, Thorin was certain. Mahal had been quite sure that the ring Thror held was the cause of the gold-sickness taking hold and obviously there had been no dragon to affect the gold at that time. Now... well, now any explanation deserved a look at least. Though what they were going to do if the gold did seem to be affected by magic, Thorin did not know. It would make giving what was owed to the Company and Thranduil very awkward.

‘Very well,’ Thorin agreed, ‘let us go and see what you can find. I assume you would like to investigate tonight?’

‘If there is some sort of magic involved that might be best,’ Galadriel told him. ‘There are far too many people nearby who could be affected. Although,’ here she looked at Elrond briefly, ‘I think it would be best to find Gandalf first.’ Elrond’s hands moved slightly, involuntarily it seemed. The movement reminded Thorin very much of his own nervous gesture and, after a moment, it called to mind a memory. Ah, he thought, so that is where the third ring lies. Not with Thranduil but with Gandalf.

«««

It did not take long for them to gather Gandalf up and get to the treasury. Once there, Thorin found himself standing back by the door. In part, he simply felt out of place among those wielding so much power which he did not even begin to understand. However, a large part of him was also extremely reluctant to get anywhere near the contents of the treasury. Knowing what he did of his previous reaction it felt far too dangerous.

After some time, during which Elrond, Galadriel and Gandalf murmured to each other frequently in between peering closely at one or another of the pieces before them, they turned to Thorin once more. Galadriel surveyed him, apparently noting his position right up against the wall next to the door.

‘I do not believe you have anything to fear here, Thorin,’ she told him calmly. ‘I can perceive very little of your thoughts, in comparison to others in your Company. I would say you have some protection from the evil that has lurked in your home, though how you came to gain such protection I could not say.’

I could, Thorin thought. Perhaps it was better to leave that a mystery, though.

‘You think that I am safe then?’ Thorin asked her, wanting to make absolutely certain.

‘I do,’ Galadriel confirmed. ‘There is a curse upon this gold but it has no effect upon you.’

Thorin’s sigh of relief was audible. Gandalf had the Arkenstone in his keeping and Thorin did not have to worry about the gold. Two weights off his mind.

‘This really is a very curious magic,’ Gandalf said then. ‘It does not feel like anything that one of the Istari could put in place, nor like the magic of the elves. There is no purpose to it. I do not believe Smaug had any intention of snaring minds, or that he even meant to lay magic down at all.’

‘You think that it was an accident?’ Thorin asked, marvelling at the idea that Smaug could have caused such chaos without even intending to.

‘Not an accident, as such,’ Elrond explained. ‘It is possible that Smaug’s magic was less a deliberate act and more an innate part of him. His greed for the gold and his possessiveness were so great that they... seeped into the hoard and infected it.’

‘Will it wear off?’ Thorin questioned him. ‘If it does not then I do not know how I will stop the sickness from spreading.’

‘We believe that we can cleanse the gold somewhat,’ Gandalf assured him. ‘It will not be a perfect solution but it ought to speed up the process, so that you will not need to worry about severe episodes such as Gloin’s.’

‘And the less severe episodes?’ Thorin queried. That was not the most reassuring statement he had ever heard.

‘As long as those who are in frequent contact with the gold are not normally acquisitive and easily swayed, there should be no further problems,’ Galadriel answered. ‘I will confess I was surprised to find that Lord Dain had been affected when he was not near the gold itself at any point. I can only assume that the Arkenstone has some power over your people that we do not understand, for that is the only item that Dain encountered.’

Sometimes, it appeared that the universe was determined to throw problems at Thorin faster than he could find solutions. The gold itself could be cleansed but it did not explain why Dain had succumbed so easily. Galadriel was right, now that Thorin had the time to think about it. Why would Dain be afflicted so greatly when he had never even been into the treasury? Yet another question to ponder with little hope of an answer.

‘We will try to clear the magic now, as much as we can,’ Gandalf announced. ‘Best to get it out of the way. Then I think we will all be able to retire for the night at last.’

‘That sounds wonderful,’ Thorin told them. Fatigue was pulling at him now that he had been stood still for some time. Sleep had begun to feel like a distant, fond memory. Thankfully his three companions turned to begin their work immediately. Thorin sat next to the wall and leaned back, preparing to nap until they were done.

«««

Rising at dawn was not what Thorin would have chosen given an option, or rising at all given what was about to happen, but rushing to meet the Men at the last minute would not have improved his day. It seemed that the rest of the Company had had the same idea, for most everyone was up and moving when Thorin managed to force himself upright. The exceptions were Bombur and Bofur, who seemed to share a familial trait of being able to sleep through a pitched battle. Bifur was obviously well-used to this. The kick he gave each of them as he went past barely even broke his stride.

Almost immediately Thorin’s eyes went to his nephew. Fíli was sat to one side, with Kíli so close by that there was barely an inch of space between them. The brothers were saying little but Thorin was glad to see that they looked relatively calm. Walking over to them he sat on Fíli’s other side.

‘Are you ready?’ Thorin asked Fíli as gently as he could.

‘I will be fine, Uncle,’ Fíli responded patiently. Thorin got the impression that he had said similar words a number of times so far this morning. ‘It is only my beard. I am more worried about Glóin. I went to see him last night and he looked terrible.’

Kíli went to say something but Fíli gave him a sharp look and he closed his mouth again. Thorin felt obliged to say something to his younger nephew, even though he could understand much of Kíli’s anger.

‘In his right mind, Glóin knows what he has done and I do not think he could regret it more,’ Thorin pointed out. ‘Hounding him may make you feel better but it may also hurt him more than you realise.’

‘I cannot treat him as if nothing has happened,’ Kíli responded, not angry, simply matter of fact.

‘No, I know you cannot,’ Thorin accepted. ‘I am not sure any of us will treat him exactly the same. However, Lady Galadriel, Lord Elrond and Gandalf informed me last night that there is some sort of curse settled upon the gold in the treasury. Glóin was not acting entirely under his own power.’

‘Yet, none of the rest of us ended up in there,’ Kíli commented. ‘Only Nori and Glóin.’

‘Which is why they will be the ones punished today and why I have decided that they will not be allowed their shares of the treasure as the rest of you are,’ Thorin clarified. Fíli’s eyes widened and Kíli nodded, appearing slightly appeased.

‘Have you told them?’ Fíli asked, reminding Thorin that he had not. Something he needed to do before they were amongst the Men again rather than surprising the Company. Pushing himself up to his feet again, Thorin caught Nori’s eye and gestured for him to come over. Nori was clearly hesitant as he approached but was trying to hide it.

‘You were going to tell me what my punishment will be,’ Nori told Thorin when he was close enough.

‘Which is why I have called you over,’ Thorin replied. He did not wish to drag this moment out so he decided to just state the facts bluntly. ‘You will be stripped of the share of the treasure given to you in the contract. I will use it instead to help the Men rebuild Dale. Then that will be the end of it.’

Nori’s face moved through sadness and regret before he settled on a sort of weary acceptance.

‘That is not so bad as I feared it would be,’ Nori said slowly after a moment. ‘Perhaps it is for the best after all. Dori would have felt the need to watch me like a hawk otherwise.’

‘Glóin will receive the same treatment, although we will give Famla the right to use his share as she sees fit. It seemed fairer. She and Gimli would otherwise lose out and I presume that Dori and Ori will not deny you what you might need.’

‘Hah,’ Nori muttered. Thorin got the feeling it was not really meant for anyone but Nori himself. ‘Perhaps, perhaps not.’

All was not well amongst Nori and his brothers apparently. Thorin was sad to see it but he wasn’t entirely surprised. Neither Dori nor Ori had been happy with Nori when the truth had come out.

‘We will need to leave soon if we are to get Glóin before we are due to meet Ragna and her husband,’ Nori said then, clearly eager to change the subject.

‘And I need to speak to Glóin before that happens,’ Thorin continued. He whistled sharply to catch the attention of the rest of the Company. ‘Anyone who plans to come to the Shearings should be ready in a few minutes.’

The bustling noises stepped up a notch as the Company readied themselves swiftly. It seemed that they were all planning to be present.

«««

The party who stood before Erebor that day was a sombre one. Glóin had barely seemed to register the information about his share of the treasure, entirely focused on what was to come. Despite the disputes amongst the Company they had closed ranks around both Glóin and Fíli, trying to buffer them from the hostility coming from some of the Men. Most of those facing the dwarves, however, seemed more sad than hostile. Fíli’s stoic expression and Glóin’s look of devastation seemed to have softened a number of hearts.

Within moments of their arrival Bard’s children joined the dwarves. The look that they shot at certain of the men and women opposite made it clear that this was a deliberate statement of solidarity and Thorin had the sudden urge to laugh. To think his Company of blooded warriors were being defended by three children! The Company were clearly touched and Fíli gave the two girls a swift hug before they continued.

‘We have come to make the reparation due for your nephew’s murder,’ Thorin told Ragna solemnly. ‘Fíli, son of Vili and Glóin, son of Gróin are here and ready.’

‘Then let us see it done, that this episode might be over the sooner,’ Ragna responded. ‘As it is a dwarven punishment we felt it might be best that one of your own people carry it out. I assume there is some tradition to follow.’

There was, unfortunately. Thorin cursed mentally at the realisation that he would have to complete the punishment himself. It was his job, of course, as King but it was one he could have done without.

‘I will do it,’ Kíli said suddenly, taking Thorin entirely by surprise. ‘Balin has taught us how such things should be done,’ he continued, aiming the words at Thorin, ‘and if any are going to do this to Fíli then it should be me.’

For a moment Thorin considered arguing. It was a responsibility that Kíli should not have to take on. Then he realised that it would likely make the whole thing easier on Kíli if he could be in charge of this part of it, rather than watching someone else remove the symbol of his brother’s honour.

‘Very well,’ Thorin agreed, looking at Kíli approvingly. ‘Inside, I think. You will not mind avoiding a public spectacle, I hope, Mistress Ragna?’

‘Not at all,’ she responded quietly, shooting a quick glance at Fíli. ‘Let us use the pavilion King Thranduil set up yesterday. Hopefully that will keep things more private. I am sure my fellows will trust Asi and I to see the deed done. Master Bard, Master Varr and Mistress Halma can attend to vouch that all was completed as it should be.’

Oh, Master Clune and his group would not like that at all, Thorin mused, which only made Thorin happier to accept.

‘Of course, let us go now,’ Thorin agreed.

A number of sour glances were shot in their direction as the party consisting of the Company and the few Men moved away, but none there could find any reason to object.

«««

There was no making the Shearing less painful than it was. For dwarves, having their hair removed bore a stigma that no rationalising could erase. In the future, when remembering this moment, Thorin would find only two positives in the whole business. The first, that Kíli’s hands were entirely steady and gentle when shaving both Fíli and Glóin. The second, that the members of his Company acquitted themselves so admirably.

They were as silent as the situation demanded, a mute wall of support behind Thorin, determined to do what they could to ease their brothers’ shame. If this had to happen, at least no one would be able to claim that the dwarves had shied away from the consequences of their actions.

Kíli began with Glóin, as Thorin felt was most appropriate. For the sheer amount of hair that Glóin possessed, the act took less time than Thorin had expected. The length of his hair and beard were gone almost immediately, shorn by a dagger that Fíli had given to his brother. The Company had not a razor between them, not being in the habit of shaving, so Bilbo had leant them his and Kíli had sharpened it so that removing the rest of Glóin’s hair took barely any effort at all.

As he removed the remains of Glóin’s beard, Kíli murmured the traditional words of the punishment, low enough that the Khuzdul phrases would not be heard by the Men.

‘This is for honour lost,’ Kíli recited to Glóin. ‘For shame brought to kith and kin. Let all see and know what you have forfeited. No shield-brother will guard you. No dwarrowdam will shelter you. Be outcast among our people and know that this you have earned by your actions.’

One tear slid down Glóin’s face but otherwise he remained determinedly emotionless. The words Thorin had known almost all of his life took on an entirely different meaning when they were aimed at one of his own family. They seemed so harsh and so final. It was tradition though. Thorin was so caught up in what was happening to Glóin that it took him entirely by surprise when Fíli moved forward to take Glóin’s place. Thorin almost opened his mouth to tell Kíli that the words were not necessary for his brother. Luckily, Kíli was ahead of him.

‘This is for the honour of our people,’ Kíli told Fíli. ‘Let them see and know what their future king is willing to do for them, that they might be as proud as we are.’

The deed was performed even more quickly for Fíli. In no time at all the beard he had grown so proudly was gone. Clean-shaven he looked even younger than he had before. This seemed to strike Halma too. As Fíli rose to his feet she moved forward and touched his newly-shaven face with one hand. Then she leaned forward and kissed him gently on the cheek.

‘You are a brave lad, sweetling,’ Halma said to him quietly. ‘Your mother would be very proud.’

Fíli just smiled and kissed her cheek in turn. Once Halma had moved away once more, Fili turned to his uncle.

‘We have a battle to plan, don’t we?’ Fíli asked Thorin. ‘We should probably get started on that sometime soon.’

««««««


	31. Stand Together or Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With an army on the way, all must decide where they will stand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the comments and kudos! I am going to have to give ISeeFire co-author credit soon, for all of her invaluable help with ideas and for reminding me of plot points that have slipped my mind :D She is a truly amazing beta. 
> 
> Part of this chapter got away from me a little - I'm fairly sure you'll know which part.

Chapter Thirty-One: Stand Together or Alone

Watching person after person enter the tent, completely bald for the first time in his life, Glóin could not have felt more conspicuous. He would not abandon Thorin, not after what he had already done to his King, and he would not prove himself a coward before all these people. Still, he desperately wanted to hide where he would not feel eyes burning into him as they passed. Everyone knew what he had done. That was the whole point of the Shearing.

Once he had been old enough to understand what the punishment was all about, Glóin had thought it was very appropriate. He had always hated the idea that people could hide their true selves under a mask of civility or kindness. Let the world see what criminals were really like. Let the words of the punishment bind them until their creator deemed them forgiven and allowed the hair to grow once more. Let all know them dishonoured. Let there be nowhere to hide.

Of course, in reality, there was always somewhere one who had been Sheared could go. Dwarven settlements might be ruled out, unless forgiveness was granted, but there were always the towns of Men to run to. Many in these towns, Glóin had heard, did not care what a dwarf had done in his own kingdom so long as he did not commit crimes in theirs. The meaning of the lack of hair or beard would be of little importance to them.

Even so, Glóin had heard countless tales of criminals wasting away on the borders of their former kingdoms, unable to bear the thought of complete exile. To be parted from family and friends was hard enough, for those who had them, but the separation from the rock and stone they were created from was also near unbearable. It was a world with no solidity to it. A world with skies unnaturally visible and light unduly harsh. In company with his fellows Glóin could bear it. Alone….

How had this come to be his fate?

Thorin would not drive Glóin out, he knew. His King had proven more accepting of weakness than Glóin had ever expected him to be. In Ered Luin, Glóin had thought his cousin’s sense of honour as rigid as his own and had approved. How glad he was to have been shown otherwise during this quest. The Thorin of old might well have stuck to tradition and banished Glóin from among his people. Glóin was almost certain that would have killed him.

Now, however, he had a different problem entirely. Glóin felt no better prepared for living among his people in shame than he did for living without them. He could not comprehend the idea of explaining to his beloved what he had done. He could not bear the thought of Gimli turning from him, the rules Glóin had taught his son to live by requiring that he separate himself from one without honour.

As they prepared for their Council of War, Gloin admitted to himself that he felt as helpless as a newborn babe and just as lost. He did not know himself at all. He did not feel as if he knew anything anymore.

«««

If Thorin kept using Bain and Eric as messengers he really was going to have to start paying them, he reflected. In fact it would be worth paying them to have Erebor run this efficiently. Within no time at all the pavilion was filled with all those who needed to be present to decide upon their next steps.

‘In all the excitement,’ Bard said once they were all assembled once more, ‘I did not think to ask how all of you came to be here.’ He was looking at the elves as he said this and Thorin was thankful that Bard had asked the question. It had been burning in the back of his mind but had been overwhelmed by everything else he needed to deal with.

‘I did think to ask how _you_ came to be here, Master Bard,’ Gandalf replied, ‘but when I tried to gain an answer I was overruled.’ Gandalf gave Thranduil a baleful look that the latter completely ignored. Elrond, Thorin noticed, was eyeing Thranduil with a raised eyebrow and a suspicious expression. This, too, Thranduil ignored. He really was having far more fun than was appropriate, Thorin mused.

‘I do not think we have any time for long tales if orcs are soon to be upon us,’ Master Clune put in, sounding very harried. The man had wanted power, according to Thranduil, but he did not seem prepared for the position he had been so eager to take. He was sweating despite the pleasant temperature and he appeared to have developed a nervous twitch in one eye. No wonder the Men were looking more and more to Bard as their leader, even if Bard had not yet noticed.

‘I fear the tales may be necessary to ensure that we are all fully informed of the dangers we are to face,’ Glorfindel interjected. Master Clune looked ready to crawl under a chair and hide when faced with the possibility of arguing with an elf who had fought a Balrog and won. Thorin could sympathise somewhat. Glorfindel’s presence was a little overwhelming in close quarters and he seemed to be shining more brightly than Thorin remembered.

‘Really, Glorfindel,’ one of Elrond’s sons whispered less quietly than he meant to, ‘must you _glow_ when we are surrounded by mortals. I know you are doing it on purpose.’

Glorfindel glanced at Elladan - or possibly Elrohir, Thorin admitted, he had no idea which was which – then sighed. Almost immediately the aura of power which he had been exuding lessened. Thorin was certain that he saw both Elrond and Celeborn roll their eyes. Galadriel was biting her lip, though she was doing a very good job of concealing it. Really, Thorin thought, elves were not half as serious and solemn as they liked the other races to think.

‘We should tell you of our own travels, at least,’ Glorfindel continued as if nothing had happened. ‘We have news of Dol Guldur that King Thranduil would doubtless find of interest.’

‘I would indeed,’ Thranduil agreed readily. ‘When I sent for aid I did not expect it to arrive so quickly. I certainly did not think that you would have been near Dol Guldur.’

‘That was my fault, I fear,’ Gandalf interjected. ‘I went to inspect the fortress when I left Thorin and his Company and events got away from me a little.’

‘By which he means,’ Elrond’s other son put in, ‘that he was captured and required rescuing.’

‘I would not have phrased it quite like that,’ Gandalf responded irritably.

‘No, mellon, I do not suppose you would,’ Elrond stated equably. ‘Thankfully, Lady Galadriel was on her guard after our last meeting. We had agreed between us that I would prepare to move East to the Woodland Realm, to try and aid King Thranduil with his…’ Elrond paused briefly, as if searching for the right word.

‘We prefer infestation,’ Legolas said helpfully. ‘It sounds more temporary.’ Thranduil made a slight choking noise. He was definitely trying not to laugh. Then Thranduil turned in Thorin’s direction and winked. Thorin almost choked himself, especially when he realised that Celeborn’s eyebrows were nearly to his hairline. Well played, bâhuh, he thought.

‘Indeed,’ Elrond continued. The elf’s straight face was a sight to behold. Thorin could admit to some envy. ‘We crossed the Misty Mountains some weeks behind your own party, Thorin, and found the pass strangely empty of goblins and orcs. I might simply have assumed that they were hiding from so large a force of elves had we not encountered a Master Beorn on the other side of the Mountains. Once he had ensured that we were not enemies, and especially once he found that we were acquainted with a certain Company, he was most helpful. He informed us that the goblins and orcs had been streaming in two directions. Some to Mount Gundabad and the rest to Dol Guldur. That made our mission rather more urgent than we had expected.’

‘We met Lord Elrond on the Gladden Fields, not far from Dol Guldur,’ Celeborn continued. ‘My wife and I had also heard news of a growing power in the fortress in recent weeks and we had hoped to deal with the trouble there once and for all.’

‘It does not sound as if you had much success,’ Tauriel commented warily. Her eyes looked tired and Thorin felt great empathy for her. She must have been hoping for an end to the darkness that she had been fighting with so little hope of victory.

‘It is not so grim as you fear, child,’ Galadriel reassured Tauriel calmly. ‘If we failed to drive out the darkness in Dol Guldur, it is only because we arrived to find that it had fled. Apparently it dared not face our host. Of the orcs there was no sign, though Gandalf tells me that a large horde had gathered there. Presumably they also fled, possibly through the edges of Mirkwood so that they could meet their fellows at Mount Gundabad.’

‘How did you survive, Gandalf?’ Bilbo asked then, looking the wizard over for signs of injury.

‘I was left behind, Master Baggins,’ Gandalf informed him. ‘I had enough grace left to me to prevent Sauron from killing me and he apparently did not judge me important enough to continue trying when he realised help was on the way.’ The last part of this was hard to hear, drowned out, as it was, by shouts of ‘Sauron!’ from several of those assembled.

‘Well, of course,’ Gandalf responded to the Council. ‘What did you think was lurking there?’

‘When last we spoke of this,’ Thorin told him sharply, ‘you mentioned a necromancer. At no point did you suggest that it was _Sauron_ in Dol Guldur!’

‘Well I do not suppose it matters now,’ Gandalf snapped. ‘He is not there anymore. He has retreated to Mordor to fester there instead.’

‘Which the Men of Gondor will find extremely worrying,’ Bard stated suddenly. ‘We will need to send a messenger to Minas Tirith to warn the Steward.’

‘A worthy thought, Master Bard,’ Elrond said approvingly. ‘We will certainly do so, but I fear we must deal with our own opponents first.’

‘Hopefully they will prove a challenge,’ Glorfindel interposed. Varr, who had thus far sat silently watching them all with studied tolerance, began to laugh.

‘I can almost guarantee, my lord,’ he informed Glorfindel, ‘that you are in the minority with that hope. I am sure our foes seem very tame to you but we would rather they were easy to deal with.’

Glorfindel smiled sincerely and bowed slightly to Varr.

‘A feeling I can appreciate, Master,’ he responded. ‘I did not, perhaps, choose my words as well as I might have done. I will hope that they are swiftly vanquished for your sakes, if nothing else.’

‘Now would be a good time to decide on a plan, then,’ Kíli announced, ‘before we run out of time. How do we know that the orcs and goblins are coming here?’

‘Not so fast, Master Kíli,’ Gandalf said firmly. ‘You have had your tale and now I would like mine.’

‘It’s really very simple, Master Gandalf,’ Ori chipped in. ‘King Thranduil agreed to help us and so did the Men of Lake-town. The Men went to stay in the Woodland Realm while we came to Erebor. Bilbo went inside and realised that Smaug was awake, so we decided to take him by surprise and get Prince Legolas or Captain Tauriel or Kíli to shoot him with a black arrow through that weak spot on his chest. Only we had a bit of a mix-up with the arrows, so Bilbo ended up killing Smaug instead after the archers blinded him. Bilbo and Kíli weren’t very well for awhile but King Thranduil’s healers have them sound as steel now. Nori and Glóin went into the treasury, which was very foolish, and came down with gold-sickness. Unfortunately, Glóin killed the Master because he was trying to claim a share of the treasure, supposedly to rebuild Dale. Obviously they had to be punished but Glóin was ill, so rather than executing him we put him through the Shearing and Fíli as well, to show that we were sorry for not keeping a close enough eye on Nori and Glóin. That’s it, really.’

Silence reigned. No one spoke.

Then Dwalin’s rumbling laugh broke the silence.

‘Ori, lad,’ he said with much amusement, ‘if you write Erebor’s chronicles like that I may even start reading them. They will be brief, at least.’

«««

There had been a pause in the Council at that point, partly so that poor Ori could recover from blushing so brightly he looked as if he had been in direct sunlight for a week. When they resumed they got straight down to business.

‘Master Beorn also told us,’ Elrond began, in answer to Kíli’s earlier question, ‘that the word among the orcs was that they were to march on Erebor. They have heard about the dragon’s death and come to take your Mountain for their own. I doubt that they will have gone all the way to Mount Gundabad but it is entirely possible that they intend to meet somewhere along the Anduin and then come around Mirkwood to assault us from the north.’

‘Then we will make them rue their decision,’ Thorin stated.

‘Are we sure that they will come from the north,’ Fili enquired. ‘If the orcs do not go all the way to Mount Gundabad surely it would make more sense for them to cut through Mirkwood and come at us from the south?’

‘They have no way of knowing, I hope, that my lands are empty,’ Thranduil answered. ‘After their recent defeat it would make more sense for them to move through the uninhabited lands to the north rather than risk fighting my people in order to get to yours.’

‘Let us hope you are right,’ Elrond told him. ‘The less they know, the more likely it is that we will be able to defeat them.’

‘That would also depend on how many orcs and goblins there are,’ Thranduil replied. ‘What are their numbers?’ he asked Elrond’s party.

‘Some thousands, possibly close to six, though no one has yet seen the entirety of their forces,’ Glorfindel responded, all humour gone now. ‘The filth spawn too quickly under their mountains. How many do you have with you, Thranduil?’

‘As of this morning, a thousand,’ Thranduil said, glancing quickly at Tauriel and receiving a nod. ‘We had left most of our warriors with the Men to guard them on their way back to Lake-town but they caught up with us earlier.’

‘After discussion with Fíli it was decided that all our able-bodied men would come to Erebor after reaching Lake-town,’ Bard added. ‘We number no more than 200, all told, but we will do what we can. This morning Halma left with the women and younger children we had originally brought with us. Valar willing, they will be safe enough in Lake-town.’

‘For one who claims not to wish to rule, bargeman,’ Master Clune scoffed, ‘you seem to have been giving a great many orders!’

‘He has not,’ Varr said very firmly. ‘I have. If you have a problem with our Men fighting to defend their home, Master Clune, I am sure we will have plenty of time to discuss it later.’ Master Clune sputtered for a few moments. By the time he had recovered himself the topic had moved on.

‘So we have about 3,000 overall,’ Glorfindel stated, ‘supposing that Lord Dain’s host are willing to fight with us.’

‘Of course,’ Dain said briskly. He looked much better than he had the day before and Thorin could see no hint of dissent in the ranks when Dain agreed to fight with them.

‘So we are only outnumbered two to one,’ Legolas remarked. ‘That will make a refreshing change.’

‘So it will,’ Thranduil concurred, ‘but I would not be too confident, ionneg. When we fought the orcs at home they were greatly outnumbered and we did not come out unscathed.’

While Glorfindel had been ascertaining the size of their forces, Elrond’s sons had spread a map across the table. Upon it the Lonely Mountain was clearly visible, as was Lake-town and the ruin of Dale.

‘It would make most sense,’ Celeborn asserted as he leaned forward to look more closely at the map, ‘to place our forces on the southern and eastern spurs of Erebor. If we can lure the orcs into that gap then we will be able to attack them from above the choke-point.’

Thorin was sure that that had sounded like a perfectly reasonable idea the first time as well. Until enemies had come pouring over the top of the Mountain to attack their positions. Thorin looked at Dwalin, making sure he had caught his friend’s eye, then reached out and tapped the top of the Mountain on the map. Dwalin’s brow furrowed with thought for a moment before his eyes widened with understanding.

‘We will need to be wary,’ Dwalin said suddenly. ‘If the goblins are coming from Mount Gundabad the spurs may not be as safe as we imagine. Inside their kingdom we saw goblins climb sheer walls that would make Legolas blanch with horror. They will be perfectly capable of coming over the top of the Mountain, no matter how treacherous the terrain.’

The Elves and Men turned startled glances upon Dwalin, who seemed entirely unconcerned. War was Dwalin’s element. He had been leading dwarves into battle since he was barely old enough to be allowed to fight. The disbelief of a few ancient beings bothered him not at all.

‘You think they would do it?’ one of the twins questioned. ‘Surely it would make more sense to come around….’

‘To us, perhaps, Elrohir,’ Celeborn thought aloud, ‘but to goblins it might not. They are made for life under mountains even more than dwarves are and they have little regard for the safety of their fellows. They would not allow the possibility of falling to deter them.’

‘Then what do we do?’ Bard asked worriedly. ‘Defending from those who come from above sounds like a very difficult task.’

‘Put Tauriel and I and our fighters on both spurs,’ was Legolas’ suggestion. ‘We will have people keeping watch for any movement from behind and we can try to pick them off before they get too far down.’

‘With 500 on each it might well work,’ Glorfindel decreed. ‘Certainly it will prevent us from being taken unawares.’

‘So how do we convince them to walk directly into a trap?’ Kíli queried then. ‘They are not completely mindless, surely they will realise they are being herded.’

‘I would not count on it,’ the twin who must be Elladan put in. ‘Given a target for their hatred, mindless is exactly what they tend to become, even the orcs. As long as they have an enemy to attack I imagine they would rush straight in.’

‘If Azog is leading them then that had best be me,’ Thorin said with some reluctance. ‘Especially if word got back to him about what happened in the Woodland Realm. The lads said that the orc I killed seemed important and thinking back he really did bear a strong resemblance to Azog.’

‘His son,’ Elrond told Thorin. ‘So Master Beorn claimed when we spoke to him.’

‘In which case, I do not like the idea of you playing bait at all, Thorin,’ Balin declared. ‘They might well ignore everyone else in favour of trying to kill you and you will be far too vulnerable out in the open.’

‘I agree,’ Thranduil interjected. ‘There is no reason that it must be you. Orcs hate all of our peoples enough to attack them on sight.’

‘I do believe I would enjoy playing bait,’ Glorfindel said absently. ‘It would make the whole affair more challenging.’

‘Do try not to take on the entire army yourself, Glorfindel,’ Elrond sighed, tacitly agreeing to this plan. ‘Leave some for the rest of us.’ Glorfindel treated him to a brilliant smile in place of a reply.

‘We’ll stay with Glorfindel,’ Elrohir announced, ‘along with the rest of our people. That should be enough of us to get their attention without risking too much. It will also force him to _share_.’ The last was said very pointedly.

‘Then all that remains is to place the rest of our number,’ Celeborn said with great finality. ‘Unless you have any great objection, King Thorin, I believe my host and I will take the southern spur and leave the East for you and the Men of Lake-town.’

Some events really were fated to replay themselves. Dwarves and Men on one side and Elves on the other. Hopefully they would acquit themselves better this time. With fewer deaths, at least.

‘Very well,’ Thorin agreed, ‘if Dain and Bard are happy.’

‘It makes as much sense as anything else,’ Dain acknowledged. Bard simply nodded and, with that, their Council was concluded.

«««

A tense mood settled upon the encampment after that. While many of their number were seasoned warriors, none of these had failed to notice that the Men were extremely nervous. More than one man had begun drinking in the hope that he would find courage at the bottom of his mug. Tauriel had been the first to mark the problem and soon enough there were Woodland Elves moving through the human camp speaking quietly and calmly to those who seemed most nervous.

Bain and Eric had campaigned long and hard to be included among the soldiers but their fathers had overruled them. When they turned to the dwarves, looking for support, Bifur drew them aside and Óin joined him. As Bifur signed, Óin translated and the boys listened carefully.

‘What will they say to the lads?’ Bard asked the Company. He had spent much of the afternoon with Dwalin, outfitting his people from the weapons Dwalin and Ori had discovered during their work in Erebor. Thorin had also remembered to have Bilbo’s mithril shirt retrieved from the treasury, sending Bombur in with the hobbit to fetch it. It could not hurt to be careful, even if Bilbo would be sitting the battle out inside Erebor because his legs were still healing. Now Bard and Varr sat with the Company around their fire, finishing their dinner in between arguing with their sons.

‘Probably that they wish they had listened to their own fathers and stayed out of battle when they were Bain and Eric’s age,’ Balin responded. ‘They were both too young to be at Azanulbizar by normal dwarven standards. As were Thorin, Dwalin and I in truth. Bifur and Óin got the worst of it, though, as you can see.’

‘What was your cousin like?’ Bard queried then, looking at Bofur and Bombur. ‘Before the injury, I mean.’

‘We couldn’t say,’ Bofur replied quietly. ‘Bifur is the oldest of us. To us, that is Bifur as he has always been.’ Bard clearly felt awkward then, sending Bofur an apologetic glance.

‘He was always quiet,’ Dwalin spoke up. ‘Not one for long speeches, Bifur, though he had a wicked tongue when he wanted. He’d sit in silence all night and then, just as we’d all forgotten he was there, he’d come out with some jibe that would have us roaring. Mostly he preferred to sit and whittle. It was why the children always flocked to him. Bifur did not sell the toys he made in those days, when we weren’t at war he still worked in the mines. Instead he’d fashion whatever caught his fancy and then gift it to one of the little ones when it was done.’

‘Which is why he’s so good with my three,’ Bard commented. ‘Yet Fíli said at the beginning that he did not get the chance to talk to people often.’

‘He doesn’t,’ Bombur explained. ‘We do not teach the youngest of our race the secret languages, Bard, for fear they will alter our creator's gift without meaning to. They cannot understand him, for the most part. My children are an exception, of course. There is no way to avoid them picking up Khuzdul and Iglishmêk when they hear it day after day as we talk to their uncle.’

‘It was a sad change,’ Balin agreed softly. ‘I remember seeing Bifur one day, after he had recovered from the wound, sat in the same place he had always chosen when he was whittling. He had been forbidden the mines at that point because he still had bad days and found it hard to concentrate for extended periods. He sat for a long time with a finished toy in hand and none of the children were brave enough to come and get it. The axe frightened them and Bifur could not speak to them to reassure them. In the end he left it on the ground and one of them picked it up after he was gone.’

‘It did not last forever, though,’ Bofur said swiftly, ‘so it is not all doom and gloom. They still don’t understand a word he says but they got used to the axe in the end. Children are fairly fearless once they become familiar with a situation. I think that’s one of the reasons Bifur prefers their company. They don’t treat him like he’s stupid or tiptoe around him when he’s having a bad day and the wound pains him.’

‘So our children are in good company then,’ Varr observed, nodding in the direction of Bain and Eric, who were returning to the group with Bifur and Óin. ‘Well, if your companions have managed to convince the two of them to stay inside Erebor as we have ordered then I will owe them a great deal.’

As Eric approached, Varr raised an eyebrow at him and received a resigned nod in return.

‘Yes, Da,’ Eric said in a long-suffering tone, ‘we’ll stay inside the Mountain.’

‘Good,’ Varr answered. ‘I will have quite enough to worry about without you in harm’s way. Now, we had best return to our own people and make sure all is well. King Thorin, I hope that we will see each other again before battle commences but, if not, I will say good luck and farewell.’

‘The same to you,’ Thorin responded, rising to his feet and bowing slightly. ‘I hope that we will all see one another again after the battle is done so we can celebrate our victory.’

‘As do we,’ Bard agreed, also rising. ‘Say your farewells, Bain, we will be leaving as well.’

Shortly thereafter they were gone and the Company sat alone.

«««

For Thorin’s Company, the coming battle did not hold the same fears as it did for the Men. All of them had seen battle before. Not long ago they had killed a dragon, so orcs appeared less fearsome than they had some weeks earlier. They knew what they would likely face and how they would most likely react. Unfortunately, that only meant that they could all imagine dozens of scenarios of disaster, particularly Thorin, Balin and Dwalin, who each knew exactly how dire the results could be.

‘No dramatic charges,’ Dwalin commanded Thorin in an undertone, unwittingly quoting Bilbo. ‘If you go trying to get yourself killed again I won’t be coming to save you.’

This was a blatant untruth. Dwalin would never allow him to be hurt, no matter how stupid Thorin’s actions were. If it made Dwalin feel better to say it, however, then Thorin would humour him.

‘No dramatic charges,’ Thorin agreed. ‘There is too great a chance that the boys would follow me. I do not think I will need to charge though. Azog knows I am here. He will no doubt come looking.’

‘No doubt,’ Dwalin nodded. ‘He will find himself outmatched, though, and that is the main thing.’

‘You will stay near the boys?’ Thorin asked, wanting the reassurance. Dwalin had never let him down before and the most important thing was for Fíli and Kíli to make it through alive.

‘I will stay near all of you, as long as you cooperate,’ Dwalin asserted. ‘They will come to no harm if I can help it.’

‘And that is the most I can ask,’ Thorin murmured. ‘Pray that Mahal watches over us, Dwalin. We may well need his help if things go ill.’

‘Well, it is more likely that he watches over us now than it ever was before. If he wants to kill a thousand or so orcs to make things easier he will not hear me complaining.’

They both paused for a moment, though what they were waiting for Thorin could not say. When nothing happened Dwalin huffed irritably.

‘Something tells me we are on our own with this one, my King,’ he said formally. Then he clouted Thorin on the arm and moved to his blankets to sleep.

««««««

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzsh, I believe, means my friend in Khuzdul. It is entirely possible that I am wrong though, as I struggled to find a translation. If anyone knows a better word please let me know.
> 
> ETA: Thank you to BairnSidhe, who tells me that bâhuh would be my friend in Neo-Khuzdul. I have now edited as I suspect that is much better than the word I found :D


	32. Do What Must Be Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the end, everyone must play their part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, if I have not yet answered your comment I am very sorry!! I appreciate them so much but I thought you'd probably prefer a chapter over a comment reply.
> 
> Secondly, most of you know how I feel about battle scenes. Theirs was not the only fight and I hope I won mine :D
> 
> Now it is bedtime, so I need to shut up and go.

Chapter Thirty-Two: Do What Must Be Done

Their first signal that the orcs were near was the dark cloud that appeared on the horizon, travelling faster than any cloud should be able to. Thorin knew that it was the bats that had accompanied the orcs and goblins and took it as a signal to get his Company into position. Bain and Eric took the message to the other forces and soon all were in place, with Bilbo and their messengers sent into the Mountain for safety.

A hush had settled over Erebor and the surrounding area. There was some shifting in place or nervous checking of weapons but otherwise the armies were almost entirely silent. Thorin was startled when the silence was broken nearby.

‘Uncle,’ Kíli said quietly in his ear. ‘You will be careful, won’t you? Azog will probably be coming straight for you.’

‘Will you be careful?’ Thorin asked in turn, including Fíli in the conversation as well. ‘My own safety will be of little comfort to me if I have to tell Dis that I have let you get hurt or worse.’

‘I think you should all be careful, if you don’t want to get my axe somewhere uncomfortable,’ Dwalin interjected. Kíli snorted with laughter involuntarily.

‘Ever the poet, Dwalin,’ Balin sighed from further along.

‘If we are all alive to worry about Dwalin’s axe at the end then we’ve done well,’ Óin told them. ‘For now, however, we have bigger worries.’

He was right.

Around the end of the eastern spur came a horde of orcs, with goblins following behind. As they came into view the sound of their army could also be heard, snarls, roars and chittering noises rising and falling as they approached.

From his place among the front ranks of the dwarven forces Thorin could see that they were led by Azog atop his white warg. He was still little more than a speck in the distance but Thorin felt a shiver go through him. They had waited long for their revenge, he and Azog, and today would decide once and for all which of them would get it.

«««

Once Azog’s army had moved within earshot the pale orc roared what sounded like a challenge. Though Thorin understood nothing of the words except his own name, the way that Azog inspected the Rivendell forces made it clear what he wanted. In a previous life Thorin might have made it easy for him, blinded by his own rage. Now he felt a spark of something close to amusement. If Azog wanted his head let him come and find it first. Thorin would not hand it to him on a platter.

Elrond stood at the head of the Rivendell elves and, at Azog’s cry, he shouted back in Elvish. Again, Thorin did not understand the words but it seemed to be a responding challenge. Azog certainly took it as such. With a roar of Black Speech he commanded his army to charge and, as Thorin had hoped, they headed straight for Elrond and his elves.

Arrows took many of the first wave down before they had even made it within reach of their opponents. Thorin could hear faint shouted orders echoing from further along the spur, as the elves stationed amongst Bard’s men called commands to hold or to shoot. Across from them it was clear that Celeborn and his commanders were doing the same. In the end, three rows of orcs had fallen before Glorfindel, standing directly beside Elrond and glowing almost as brightly as the sun, casually decapitated the first orc brave enough to attack him.

After that, Thorin had no time to note anything except that Azog was happy to command from the rear. The goblins who had come with Azog had streamed around either side of the orcs. While many were caught by the edges of the Rivendell troops, a number had made it through and were scurrying up the rocks, headed for Thorin and his companions. The first two fell to Kíli’s arrows but Thorin was soon dealing with one that threw itself at him bodily. It was followed by another and then another. None made particularly challenging opponents but they did not need to be. They were counting on having numbers on their side.

For long minutes all of Thorin’s focus was upon his goblin opponents. In the breath he gained by skewering three on Orcrist’s blade, he glanced around and noted that all of his Company still stood relatively unharmed. Noises from behind told Thorin that the second wave of goblins had indeed arrived as Thorin had expected. The Wood Elves, led on this side by Legolas, were firing continuously and shrieks and squeaks told Thorin that the goblins were not faring well. Even as he thought this, one fell past Fíli and took out two of its brethren. Fíli shot Thorin a grin that made Thorin wonder exactly how much battle-fever his nephew was feeling at that moment, then turned and slit another goblin’s throat with a casual flick of his wrist.

Then, suddenly, Thorin heard a change in the sounds around him. It was not a moment of quiet, for the battle continued and Thorin himself was engaged once more in fighting a goblin. Still with half of his attention on what might have altered, Thorin parried the goblin’s stroke and brought Orcrist around to slash across its belly. When the goblin instinctively tried to hold its innards inside, Thorin kicked out and sent it falling backwards. The goblin rolled straight down and knocked several other goblins flying. Thorin mentally noted that as a move to be tried again.

‘Thorin!’ he heard screamed abruptly and Thorin whirled about. If anyone, especially Dwalin, had asked, Thorin would have told them that the deaths of the two goblins caught by this move were entirely planned.

The he saw why Fíli had shouted to him. There, climbing the spur with purpose clear in his vicious eyes, was Azog. Those eyes were fixed firmly on Thorin.

                                                                                                    «««

Further up the spur, Legolas was also startled by a sudden cry.

‘Hiren,’ one of warriors yelled, pointing straight down the slope. Legolas knew instantly what he was pointing at. The pale orc was moving towards the dwarves and it took no imagination to guess why.

‘Take command,’ Legolas shouted to another of his Captains, and received a curt nod in response.

Then Legolas leapt into motion, jumping from one rock to another and occasionally sliding along scree with more haste than thought for safety.

Once, Thorin Oakenshield had saved his life. Legolas would not leave Thorin and his Company to stand alone now.

«««

Across the distance of the battlefield, Thranduil had also noted what was happening. Elven eyesight was just acute enough to allow him to see both the way that Thorin’s Company had gathered around their King and the way that Thranduil’s son had begun running towards them.

‘Aulë bless and Eru guard, mellyn,’ Thranduil murmured as he moved forward to aid Tauriel with the goblins that had made it past their archers. Then he forced all thoughts of Legolas, Thorin and the dwarves he had become so unaccountably fond of out of his mind.

They would make their own luck this day.

«««

Upon the ground and amidst an army of orcs who were pressing them hard, Elrond had been keeping track of the pale orc’s progress. Azog had already killed at least one of his people and a heart too used to grief mourned without allowing the mourning to cloud his judgement. That it was only one of his people was due almost entirely to Azog’s singular focus. The orc had no real interest in elves this day. Whatever his Master’s aims, Azog was too much a creature of base instinct to care how others on this battlefield were killed. All of Azog’s attention was reserved for Thorin Oakenshield.

‘Glorfindel!’ Elrond cried, only to discover that his chief Captain was already aware of the problem.

Feinting to the right, Glorfindel swapped his blade to his left hand and caught an orc, only a few inches shy of Azog’s height, through the neck when it flinched leftwards. Then, the golden-haired elf began to run, leaping into the air and using orcish heads as stepping stones to speed his progress. The orcs were as baffled by this behaviour as Elrond often felt by Glorfindel and they made little move to stop him.

Elrond turned all of his attention back to the fight at hand, calling to his people to retreat a few steps and close some of the gaps in their formation. Azog might be the leader of this horde but there were more than enough orcs here for every fighter on the field.

«««

Dain snarled with frustration as an orc forced his axe back towards him, using its bodyweight to try and hamper his movement. The Mahal-cursed things were swarming like flies as the elves drew themselves in tighter down below and even the Men’s archers weren’t enough to deter the foul creatures. Dain was always glad of the chance to kill orcs, but he did wish that they had a little more self-preservation. It would make them easier to kill.

Throwing his own weight forward with a grunt, Dain managed to take his adversary by surprise and gain himself a little room. A quick swing of his axe and the orc was choking on its own blood. Dain immediately dismissed it and let out a bellow to try and distract an orc making for his second-in-command. Hrar was getting on in years and was no longer the dwarf he had once been, but Dain had not been able to bring himself to ask his father’s oldest friend to step down. Dain cursed his own stupidity as Hrar panted with the effort taken to sustain fighting for so long. He should have forced the issue three years ago, when Hrar had stopped testing new soldiers himself because so many were pushing him to his limit. If they survived this battle, Dain would place Hrar as his General but insist that another took the lead in battle. Pride was a very dwarven reason to die but Hrar’s children and grandchildren were a better reason for him to live.

Though Dain was aware of the pale orc’s charge up their spur he could spare no attention for him. Dain had enough problems of his own. Thorin had earned his war-name through great skill. He could handle one orc, no matter how fearsome.

Dain placed himself back to back with Hrar and thought no more of Azog the Defiler.

«««

Bard, too, had other worries to occupy his mind. His men had the least training of all on this battlefield and Bard was only too aware of the lack. Far too many of the screams he heard were from his own people. Bard wanted to curse himself for bringing them here, for risking their lives when there were so many others here who could fight the orcs and goblins back.

Yet Bard was not a fool. He knew that they were not winning this battle easily. In fact, he was not sure they were winning it at all. Despite the efforts of Elrond’s and Thranduil’s hosts, more and more orcs and goblins were making it through to the Men and Dwarves. Bard’s arms ached from the constant stream of nock, draw, release, nock, draw, release. He had never fired his bow so constantly in all his life. Even his eyes felt tired from picking out targets over and over again.

No, Bard decided, he would not regret bringing his men here, no matter how many of them died this day. This army had to be stopped before it could turn its attention to Lake-town. Before they could force open the gates of Erebor and reach Bard’s son, and Varr’s. Before they could reach the brave hobbit who had already suffered to free Lake-town from fear.

So Bard would fight on, until the battle was done or he was dead.

«««

Celeborn had fought battles beyond count in his long life. Under Thingol and beside Gil-galad, against Morgoth and then against Sauron, with his son-in-law standing beside him. Once he would have said that he was more likely to fight against the dwarves than with them. At all times since he and Galadriel had met, however, Celeborn had fought with her safety and her concerns in mind. Galadriel stood against evil wherever it was found and both love and his own sense of what was right led Celeborn to do the same. If that meant that sometimes his allies were unexpected ones… well, if you lived long enough many things came to pass that you did not expect.

Celeborn might have preferred that his wife was a little further from the battlefield at this time, but one did not tell Galadriel where she could and could not be. Not if they valued their continued survival in any case. Celeborn sensed her presence, as he always did, and kept one part of his mind always on where she stood, tucked safely amongst their best warriors. They would guard their lady as fiercely as Celeborn himself.

When Celeborn noticed Glorfindel using the orcs as a path across the field, he resisted the urge to sigh loudly. He considered Glorfindel a friend, but even Eru would have to admit that his fellow elf had a flair for the dramatic. Glorfindel was generally not far from major trouble, however, so Celeborn marked both his passage and his destination.

‘My love, we may have a problem,’ Celeborn told his wife, long practice making communicating mentally whilst continuing to fire easy.

‘I see him,’ Galadriel told him. Celeborn had a vague sense of movement and realised that Galadriel was stretching to see over Haldir’s shoulder so that she could follow Azog’s movements.

‘Do I move against him?’ Celeborn asked, curious about what she would say.

‘No,’ Galadriel answered, her voice quiet in his head. ‘This fight is Thorin Oakenshield’s,’ she paused for a moment. ‘I will perhaps try to thin the herd a little around them,’ his wife finished then.

Celeborn felt the tingle of power that told him Galadriel was using her ring. Across the battlefield the ground under the feet of the orcs and goblins climbing the spur became treacherous. Within short moments a small landslide had begun. Orcs and goblins fell, allowing the Company some peace, however brief. They had done what they could.

«««

Mahal was never more aware of the limits of his power than when he watched his people in battle. There were rules even he could not break and, despite Dwalin’s invitation, Mahal could not simply slaughter orcs to win their battle for them. He _wanted_ to, of course, but he and his fellows had realised many years ago that some things their children really had to do for themselves.

‘Always when I come to you, child, you are watching Thorin Oakenshield and his companions,’ Eru said blandly as he appeared next to Mahal.

‘I can think of no group more important at this moment,’ Mahal told him. ‘If all my defiance has been for nothing….’

‘Then we will deal with the consequences as we have dealt with such consequences again and again in the history of this world,’ Eru reminded him. ‘You know that you can do no more than watch.’

‘No,’ Mahal said, trying to keep guilt out of his tone, ‘and I understand why, but….’

‘But these are your dwarves and you wish with all your might to keep them safe,’ Eru concluded, ‘especially your Thorin, whom you have brought back from death itself.’

‘Yes,’ Mahal whispered, his gaze on Thorin’s reactions when he caught sight of Azog.

‘Then have faith in him,’ Eru said gently. ‘Believe that he can do the task you set him, for certainly he managed the other tasks well enough.’

‘You had to save Bilbo from death,’ Mahal pointed out, ‘for which I am extremely grateful,’ he hastened to add.

‘Aulë, if you wish for perfection from your dwarves you will be ever disappointed. I did not give them life that they might be perfect. Be patient. Watch carefully. It is all you can do.’

‘Yes,’ Mahal agreed. Then, once again, he resigned himself to watching and waiting. Eru stood beside him until all was done.

«««

Thorin’s world narrowed. Now, as Azog’s attention was fixed on Thorin, so Thorin’s was fixed on Azog. All his attention, that is, apart from the part reserved always for his sister-sons.

‘Dwalin, keep them back,’ Thorin ordered, certain that Dwalin would know exactly who “they” were.

Fíli knew as well. He was closer than Kíli and had heard the order and now he protested vehemently.

‘Uncle, we can help!’ he argued, his anger driven by the fear also present in his voice.

‘No, Fíli,’ Thorin said firmly, still looking at his old enemy. ‘Not this time.’

Dwalin herded Fíli back, scolding Fíli to pay attention to his own opponents and never mind his uncle’s. Mahal, Thorin prayed urgently, do not let them die from distraction when we are so close. This was always going to be the most frightening part for Thorin and he could feel the terror clawing at him as he walked towards Azog, barely aware of what he was doing. More and more, however, Thorin’s fear was being drowned by rage. In his heart, Frerin stood beside him on their Mountain. So did Thror, the Thror Thorin had seen glimpses of in his early childhood, so strong and full of determination. Just, in those days, if not wise. Tucked inside Thorin, too, was Thrain. A Thrain who had been weakening but not yet lost. Not until the day Azog destroyed their family and stole from Thorin, and from Thrain, what could never be replaced.

Thorin did not go alone to this battle. This time his companions were the memories of his dead and the anger in them gave him strength.

Azog leered in triumph when Thorin moved to face him in battle. There were several small plateaus along the spur of Erebor and it was on one of these that they met.

Azog snarled a challenge and Thorin snarled back in Khuzdul.

‘This will be your end, vile scum. Look not for victory here, for you will find only death.’

Azog did not respond, only took a swing with his great mace, aimed at Thorin’s skull. Thorin ducked under the swing and the fight began.

Thorin had fought Azog once before and the fight had stuck with him. Some of Azog’s tricks he already knew. The orc relied on his size to win his battles for him but the force he put into each swing made him slower than another might be. He also swung in long arcs and so took longer to recover. With this in mind, Thorin kept himself moving almost constantly, circling his enemy and forcing him to turn and turn and turn to keep an eye on Thorin.

Thorin was only barely aware of the fighting around him. All he knew was that others were keeping a space clear around the two of them. Orcrist’s strength came into play more than once, with Thorin blocking strike after strike, lunging in when he could to try and wound Azog without exposing himself too much. Though Azog soon sported several bleeding cuts on his chest and arms, he seemed more amused than annoyed and Thorin snarled again.

Anger drove Thorin in recklessly close, ducking low and shoving his blade in before him rather than slashing sideways with it. Azog had over-swung again and his right side was unguarded for a brief moment. Thorin thrust Orcrist into the orc’s chest, hoping to catch the orc by surprise. He succeeded but Azog’s forearm caught him around the neck before he could retreat and the orc did his best to strangle Thorin. Thorin felt himself nearly lifted off his feet and his blood ran cold.

Azog showed no signs of releasing him and Thorin was beginning to feel dizzy. He had hold of Orcrist still but, at this angle and with his body focused entirely on attempting to breathe, the blow had no power behind it. The pale orc raised the arm that Thorin had cut off and began to trail the claw on the end over Thorin’s cheek.

When Azog did loosen his hold on Thorin’s throat, it was because Glóin had thrown himself into the fray. He hacked at Azog while he was distracted and for a brief second Azog lost his concentration. Thorin twisted desperately and managed to work his way free. The reprieve did not last long. Azog had turned his attention to Glóin, striking at his throat with the claw and sending Glóin stumbling back, gasping for breath. There was blood, too much for Thorin’s comfort, but he could not spare the concentration to worry.

Azog was driving Thorin further and further back and Thorin knew that he was hoping Thorin would stumble. Despite the pain in his throat and the slight dizziness, Thorin was parrying blow after blow, using every trick he had ever learned. A lucky blow from Orcrist left Azog with another deep gash in his side and now the orc _was_ angry.

Azog roared and lunged at Thorin, aiming again for his head. Thorin went to duck and tripped, a dropped weapon on the ground taking him off guard. Rather than ducking he fell, Azog’s mace catching the very top of his head and leaving Thorin’s ears ringing. Dizziness returned full force and Thorin was unable to push himself to his feet.

Thorin could see a flash of daggers as Fíli ducked around Dwalin, completely ignoring Thorin’s orders, and caught Azog’s mace on the cross his two daggers created. Struggling to get up, Thorin was desperate to rejoin the battle and get Fíli out of the way. Seeing him on his feet, Azog swiped carelessly at Fíli and Thorin heard bone snap. Fíli screamed with pain and was immediately pulled out of the battle by Dwalin, the Company swiftly surrounding him to act as a barrier between Fíli and their enemies.

Thorin was given another few moments of respite at that point by the arrival of Legolas, who shot at Azog whilst moving and put a shaft in the orc’s shoulder. Azog shouted a command and the orcs nearby, who had been keeping more than one eye on the show, hurried away to engage Legolas. Again, Azog turned to Thorin but this time he did not immediately try to strike. The orc’s features drew into a fearsome grimace as he spotted something down below that displeased him. A second shout and other orcs pulled away from the Company and ran down the spur, leaving the Company more able to protect Thorin’s back whilst he and Azog fought.

Now, once again, it was only Azog and Thorin doing battle. Thorin’s head had cleared once more, though it ached terribly and he did not feel as quick as he had before. Azog was confident once again, treating the Company’s reluctance to get involved as a sign of their fear. The orc stood tall, making the guttural noises that constituted Black Speech with his chest puffed up like a cockerel. Thorin didn’t even bother responding. Instead he stayed a distance away and scanned Azog, looking for a weak spot.

Even as he gloated, Azog was keeping his good arm close to his body. Despite his grin, there were frown lines drawing his brow into wrinkles. Legolas’ arrow was still sticking out of the shoulder of that arm and Thorin drew the conclusion that the wounds Azog had taken were paining him more than the orc was willing to let on. Immediately a plan formed.

Feeling reckless, Thorin rushed in and slashed at the arm he had once amputated. As he had hoped, Azog instinctively turned to protect his weaker side, momentarily forgetting the injuries he had suffered earlier. When he tried to swing the mace at Thorin there was a hitch in the movement and the blow was lacking power. Thorin caught it on Orcrist’s blade, then swiftly broke contact and hacked at Azog’s full arm. Orcrist was far sharper than the blade he had used years before. With all of Thorin’s strength behind it, the sword cut straight through. Now Azog was weaponless.

The orc screamed in agony, lashing out wildly with his claw and scraping across Thorin’s stomach. The wounds burned but not with half of the force that Azog’s must. The orc had fallen to his knees and now held the stump of his other arm close to him, still bellowing with pain. An unnatural calm settled over Thorin then. This was the culmination of years and years of hatred and anger and now all he felt was satisfaction. Stepping forward, Thorin raised Orcrist one last time and stabbed Azog directly through the heart. When Thorin pulled the sword free, Azog remained motionless but upright for a few moments, then sagged and fell to the floor, finally dead.

Around Thorin the battle continued, though he was aware of shrieks of fear from Azog’s army. Thorin rested Orcrist’s tip on the ground and slumped to his knees, the battle-fever gone. His head ached and his vision was blurring. Blood was soaking through his shirt and Thorin was certain that a number of places on his body had sections of chainmail embedded in the skin. After a few moments to regain his strength and shove back the tide of pain that had washed over him, Thorin pushed himself back to his feet.

The battle was not yet won and Fíli and Glóin would need protecting.

««««««


	33. Peace and Quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the battle ends, it is time to count the cost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you miss me? I probably haven't been gone as long as I feel like I have. A busy weekend and a new job have made the time fly :D Hopefully the chapter is worth the wait.
> 
> Thank you for all your wonderful comments and for all of the kudos that has been left. Those emails are the most exciting part of my day!

Chapter Thirty-Three: Peace and Quiet

The remainder of the battle was tough, even with the orcs leaderless and confused. Azog and Sauron might have been the reason that they had banded together originally but orcs and goblins needed no excuse to attack the other races of Middle Earth. They continued throwing themselves against the wall of Thorin and his allies time after time and, in some ways, their fear only increased their ferocity.

Throughout all the hours of fighting Thorin kept Fíli and Glóin behind the rest of the Company with Legolas and his archers guarding their backs. One of the elves in Legolas’ party had looked briefly at their wounds and had worked for some time on Glóin, brow furrowed with concern. Thorin had thrown glances in that direction at every opportunity until one of those glances had cost him a slice across his forearm. Then he had forced himself to pay attention to the fighting.

Slowly but surely they were wearing away at the remaining orcs and goblins, their numbers diminishing more and more rapidly as time went on. It was a long, hard slog and Thorin was certain that every fighter on the battlefield would ache from both injuries and exhaustion by the time they were done. In the end, the battle was drawn to a close earlier than Thorin had anticipated by the arrival of Beorn.

As the hours had gone by many of those on the spurs had advanced towards the ground, driving their enemies before them and trapping them in the valley where they could be more easily contained. Elrond and his party had fought determinedly and had the orcs on the defensive, though their opponents still did not seem to have the sense necessary to run away.

All of that, however, had shifted when the skinchanger had appeared on the field. Thorin had never truly seen the man in his bear-form and he could understand the panic that befell the orcs when Beorn suddenly attacked. Great swipes of paws as large as an orc’s head cut swathes through the orcish ranks and their attempts to swarm the bear only led to them being flung this way and that as he shook himself vigorously from head to foot. Elladan and Elrohir, apparently unflappable in battle, quickly busied themselves with disposing of the disoriented enemies Beorn had scattered.

Soon afterwards the orcs’ ranks broke entirely. They turned to flee at last and Celeborn, whose forces had by now reached the base of the valley, set his archers to picking off those who retreated. Thorin’s eyes widened as, abruptly, the water in the lake rose to a height that should have been impossible and drowned a number of the orcs who had attempted to dive into the water to escape.

Thorin’s own position had been heavily beset up to this point, with a huge number of the orcs attempting to take revenge for Azog’s death by ending the life of the one who had killed him. When Thorin finished despatching the enemy before him, with a thrust that ripped off one of the scabs on his arms yet again, he turned to find the next and stuttered to a stop. There was no opponent to be found. His part of the battle was finally done.

«««

Thorin barely remembered anything of his stumbling return to the chamber he and the Company had reclaimed within Erebor. The halls which had been so silent for so long now buzzed with the sounds of people calling back and forth, attracting the attention of a comrade, or a captain, or a healer. There were a number of moans and cries as well as the healers went about their work. The toll for the battle was far lower than it might have been but no battle was ever entirely bloodless. There would still be grief when all was said and done.

Exhaustion and repeated blows to the head had left Thorin’s thoughts murky and disconnected. He had muttered something to Balin regarding the treasury and had been relieved when Balin took his meaning and set Dwalin and Bilbo to guarding the room against anyone stupid enough to have any interest in gold after so long a battle. Thorin had also managed to gain Elrond’s help in seeing to Glóin and Fíli. He had been relieved to find that it was only Fíli’s arm that had been broken – painful and extremely irritating for a warrior but not fatal and easily dealt with by another of Elrond’s party. Elrond was far more concerned about Glóin’s injuries and it became clear that the healing would not be quick. Óin had soundly scolded Thorin when he had shown signs of finding somewhere to wait for Elrond to announce that Glóin was safe.

‘For the love of Mahal, Thorin, come here and get yourself seen to and then go and get some sleep. It’s a wonder you’re still standing. If your head was not as hard as your Mountain you would have been worse than Glóin!’

Kíli came over and took Thorin’s arm, though his gaze flicked repeatedly back to his brother, as if to check that Fíli still slept comfortably in the arms of the strong sedative he had been given.

‘Come, Uncle,’ Kíli said gently. ‘Let’s get you healed so that you can rest.’

Thorin should be objecting, he knew. Kíli had also fought for many hours today, everyone here had, and would have his own injuries that needed treating. It was Thorin’s duty as King to see that all of those he had led into battle were as safe as they could be before he even considered resting. Dwalin was guarding the treasury and Balin was organising… whatever it was Balin organised when things needed to be done. Thorin should still be working.

Apparently, some of this had made its way into words, though Thorin was not sure which parts or in what order. He might not have noticed at all, except that Kíli started answering him.

‘The only other two people who fought Azog the Defiler are either asleep after being healed, or being healed right now. I don’t think sitting down and letting Óin patch you up counts as dereliction of duty, Uncle. Especially when you can’t string a full sentence together. Sit down and do as Óin tells you.’

During the course of this reprimand Kíli had been steering Thorin across the room and now he pulled Thorin down to the floor, sitting beside him. Thorin did notice, even through the haze in his mind, that Kíli was still keeping a firm eye on Fíli.

‘He will be alright,’ Thorin said carefully, ensuring that each word was enunciated clearly. Kíli’s head whipped around and he looked sheepishly at his uncle.

‘I know,’ Kíli replied quietly. ‘I just don’t like it when he’s that still. It isn’t right.’

‘He has always been less of a fidget than you anyway,’ Óin interrupted as he plonked himself down alongside Thorin, armed with enough bandages and healing salve to deal with the entire Company. ‘As tired as he is, it’s no surprise Fíli is resting quietly. It is a good thing in any case. The quieter he is in sleep, the quicker he will heal.’

‘Yes, Óin,’ Kíli said dutifully, still with one eye on Fíli.

‘You Durins are all the same,’ Óin sniffed irritably. ‘Not a one of you hears a word I say if the others are ill. Go on then, pup, go and sit with your brother. I can deal with Thorin easily enough.’

With one last squeeze of Thorin’s arm, KÍli rose to his feet and moved to sit with FÍli. Thorin simply shook his head, then immediately wished he had not. Damn Azog and that blasted mace he had loved so much.

Soon after, Óin declared Thorin sufficiently healed to be allowed to sleep and manoeuvred him firmly towards his own blankets. Thorin lay down and then knew no more.

«««

Thorin’s dreams that night were strange and disjointed and he awoke thoroughly confused, though he could remember nothing of what he had dreamed except that Mahal had featured and had been happy with the result of the battle. That part might possibly have been real but Thorin sincerely hoped that the rest had not been. The thought was too disturbing. Flashes of fire and death were simply a product of the battle he had just fought, he reassured himself.

Pushing himself up so that he was sitting, Thorin looked around the room and was surprised at the change that it had undergone. For a start, Fíli was not lying where he had been a few hours ago. Thorin could not believe that his nephew had been well enough to wander the halls of Erebor so soon. In fact, there were a number of the Company missing who should have been there. Glóin lay sleeping as Thorin had expected, but surely Dwalin was not still guarding the treasury! One of the others ought to have replaced him by now.

‘Thorin!’ a voice cried happily and Thorin looked up to see Ori jogging towards him. ‘You’re awake!’

‘Of course I am,’ Thorin told him. ‘I can’t understand why everyone else is though. Were none of you tired at all?’ Ori’s face grew confused quickly.

‘We were, of course,’ Ori answered, ‘but it has been three days now…’

‘Three days!’ Thorin exclaimed at a far higher volume than he had meant to. ‘I have been asleep for three days?’

‘Well, you woke up once or twice,’ Ori admitted with a slight hesitation, ‘but you still seemed confused and tired so Balin told Óin to make sure that you slept a little longer.’

‘Balin,’ Thorin growled irritably. ‘I might have known. Where is he?’

Ori took an instinctive step back, worry creasing frown lines around his eyes.

‘Thorin, he did not mean to make you angry.’

‘Ori, I know you mean well,’ Thorin responded with forced calm, ‘but I can assure you that Balin knew exactly how angry I would be and did not care a jot. Which is something he and I most definitely need to talk about.’

‘I told him that you would do nothing but moan when you woke up,’ Dwalin said then, from his place leaning on the doorframe. ‘There’s no need to snap at Ori about it. Balin is outside with Thranduil and the other elves, organising their departure. They have only been waiting for you to wake up.’

‘Which would have happened a great deal earlier without interference from you and your brother,’ Thorin snapped. ‘Let us see what he has to say for himself.’

‘Of course, my Lord King,’ Dwalin said with mock servility, ‘but perhaps you would like to turn yourself back into a dwarf before you go outside. I’d hate for one of those twitchy elves to mistake you for an orc. Being shot by one of our allies after surviving all of this would be very embarrassing.’

Thorin, who had been heading purposefully towards the door, stopped in his tracks. He was extremely displeased with both Balin and Dwalin and he fully intended to get to the bottom of this outrage as soon as possible. He would not put it past Dwalin to delay him for some nefarious purpose of his own. However, after all that had happened in the last few days it was possible – just about possible – that he was not looking appropriately regal. To appear so in front of his fellow leaders would not be wise.

Dwalin, of course, began to laugh in a most unbecoming fashion. Smug idiot.

‘Hmm, thought that might catch your attention. All of your hair is sticking up and you have a red handprint on your cheek. Though only Mahal knows how, unless you were smacking yourself in your sleep.’

Thorin deliberately ignored him and turned to find a mirror.

«««

It took Thorin nearly two hours to find Balin and he blamed all of this on Dwalin’s dishonest tactics. Not only had he delayed Thorin by pointing out that he might need a little bit of tidying up, he had then sent out word to the Company that Thorin was awake. So Thorin had spent well over an hour reassuring them that all was well and checking on their own health. Fíli and Kíli had been determined to catch him up on everything that he had missed, including Bilbo’s valiant defence of the treasury against one of the Men who had tried to sneak in and Bard’s reaction when the man had been brought to him.

‘Bilbo had kicked him somewhere painful, just like Nori showed him,’ Kíli crowed happily. ‘So when we dragged him to Bard he was white as a sheet and his voice was all squeaky. Bard could barely hold his laughter in long enough to send the idiot back to Lake-town in disgrace!’

‘It served the fool right,’ Fíli chimed in. ‘Anyone with eyes should be able to see how strong hobbit feet are. He should have moved more quickly when Bilbo tried to kick him.’

‘It took the two of you over a week to stop asking me if I needed shoes after we left Bag End,’ Bilbo pointed out, far less entertained by this recounting than the rest of the Company.

‘We were concerned for your welfare,’ Kíli said blithely, as if this exonerated them of a lack of attention.

‘Well, no one has tried to get in there since,’ Bofur told Thorin. ‘Having Bilbo Dragon-Killer guarding the place was as good as any lock on the door.’

‘I think,’ Bilbo cut in loudly, ‘that this would be a good time for Thorin to go and see Elrond, Celeborn and Galadriel. We would not like them to think that he was ignoring them.’

This sentiment Thorin heartily agreed with. It had not escaped his notice that Balin was missing from the group. He was clearly hiding among the elves and the sooner Thorin got to them, the sooner he and Balin could have words. Strong ones.

«««

‘Ah,’ Gandalf announced as Thorin stormed towards a group of his allies some minutes later, ‘here he is at last! We had begun to wonder if you would sleep the week away.’

Thorin bit his tongue. Literally. He would not reveal Balin’s treachery in front of all these people. It would be a poor impression to give of Erebor’s King and its Steward so soon after they had reclaimed the Mountain. Which was not to say that he did not wish to excuse himself by making Balin’s perfidy clear. Mahal damn old friends and wizards both. Thorin could not resist a glare at Balin.

‘I do not think anyone can blame King Thorin for resting, Gandalf,’ Galadriel interjected whilst Thorin was busy restraining himself. ‘He has seen more trouble in the last year than many see in a lifetime.’

‘Trouble which is hopefully over for now,’ Elrond said then. ‘Thorin, without wishing to seem like ungrateful guests, I am afraid my people must soon depart. We have a long road back to Rivendell and I do not believe you will have any more need of us.’

‘I am grateful for all of your help,’ Thorin responded, not having to fake sincerity. He truly was most thankful to these people who had come so far to help him defend his home. Many wounds from years gone by felt healed. This time, Erebor’s need had not been ignored. ‘The battle would have been far more difficult without you.’

‘It was our pleasure,’ Glorfindel replied in Elrond’s stead. ‘It does not do for us to be peaceful for too long. Skills begin to rust even if our weapons do not. Many of my men will train more vigorously now that they have been reminded of the truth of war.’ Thorin could not help but smile. Glorfindel and Dwalin must have been getting along famously the last few days. They certainly shared the same priorities. He bowed to Glorfindel and then to Elrond.

‘I hope that we meet again in the years to come,’ Thorin said formally. ‘Have you need of aid, you may send to Erebor and we will answer.’

‘If we have gained a new ally now, when Sauron has revealed himself once more, then I am truly glad that we came,’ Elrond answered. ‘Fare well, Thorin Oakenshield. I am glad to see Erebor’s King on his throne once more.’

With that, Elrond, Glorfindel and their people departed. The last to go were Elrohir and Elladan, who had stood whispering to Fíli and Kíli as their elders spoke with one another. No doubt Thorin would eventually have cause to rue their friendship, but he was too distracted to be truly wary.

It was finally dawning on Thorin, as he watched his nephews snicker, that he had done all that he had aimed to do. Smaug was dead, Erebor reclaimed, Azog slain and the boys alive. Suddenly, even Thorin’s irritation with Balin was lessening. He was not tired, Thorin realised, when for months he had seemed to always be at least partially exhausted. There was no great catastrophe around the corner, or not immediately, at least. He had no apparently impossible tasks to complete the next day, or even in the next week or month. Sauron was a worry, a large one, but he was not Thorin’s worry alone. Thorin did not have to arrange Sauron’s downfall single-handedly. All he had to do… was live his life. The life he had not lived since Smaug came. A smile crossed his face, widening until it might have been called a grin.

‘The end of a great burden is always an even greater joy,’ Galadriel commented. Thorin looked at her and found that she was smiling back at him. ‘You overcame obstacles I feared were insurmountable, Thorin Oakenshield. I am glad to have seen it.’

‘As I am glad to have done it, my Lady,’ Thorin responded in turn. ‘I hope that we will all have peace in the days to come, though it may not last as long as we might wish.’

‘It never does,’ Celeborn remarked. ‘We will keep watch even in the days of light. Such has always been our way. Keep watch in your turn and know that Lothlórien will listen to any news you might send, even if it is not news we wish to hear.’

Perhaps that should quash his optimistic mood, Thorin thought. These elves had seen years uncounted and knew better than anyone that evil was never defeated forever. Celeborn’s words were a caution, if a gentle one, against being blind to darkness because it seemed the light had won. It did not deflate Thorin’s happiness, however. He would take that where he could, no matter what might lie ahead. If he did not, what was the point of all he had done since he had been sent back?

‘We will watch,’ Balin assured Celeborn. ‘However, we will also celebrate our victory here. For our people, this has been a triumph beyond any we can remember.’

‘That is as it should be,’ Galadriel asserted. ‘To refuse to celebrate would be to allow Sauron to win without a fight. A King will rule under the Mountain once more and I will pray that you will have both peace and happiness for many years. May the Valar protect you.’

‘And you as well,’ Thorin responded, bowing again. Galadriel and Celeborn then also took their leave. With Bard and Dain absent, only Thranduil remained.

‘Master Varr and Master Bard asked me to pass on their good wishes, Thorin,’ Balin told him. ‘They departed with their people yesterday evening, after they had recovered from the battle as far as possible. Those few who were very badly injured will remain with us until they are well once more.’

‘Of course,’ Thorin said. ‘I would have been able to bid them farewell myself had I not slept for an unnaturally long time, Balin.’

‘I told you he would not like that,’ Dwalin informed Balin, still giving off an air of smugness.

‘Yes, Brother, I am aware,’ Balin responded sternly. ‘There is no need to keep repeating it over and over again.’

‘Though I am wary of placing myself between two warring parties,’ Thranduil commented then, ‘I cannot help but agree with Master Balin that the rest was much needed, Thorin. You looked worn even before the battle, which was no surprise with all that had happened. You look far better now.’

‘Even so,’ Thorin replied, keeping his gaze firmly on Balin, ‘I do not appreciate being circumvented by my own Company. There are things that needed doing and, thanks to your interference, I have not been able to do them.’

‘Then it would seem we can do nothing but disagree,’ Balin answered. ‘I cannot say I regret it, Thorin. You were exhausted and in pain each time you woke. Now you are not. Had there been anything that needed your attention without delay then I would have woken you. There was not and so I did not.’

Balin’s actions still rankled, though Thorin could admit he felt better for the rest. He could not encourage Balin to overrule him, not when he was about to take up rule of his kingdom in truth. The Steward had to obey the King in order for Erebor to function correctly. Thorin stared at Balin for a long time, feeling very much as if he was in a battle of wills. Balin was, to his astonishment, the first to break.

‘I will not do so again,’ Thorin’s friend allowed, ‘unless you risk doing great harm to yourself. I should at least have tried to convince you to rest a while longer before taking stronger measures.’

Which was Balin’s way of saying he was sorry. Thorin nodded to accept the apology, glad now to have the discussion done with, and turned to Thranduil once more.

‘I assume you will also need to leave soon,’ Thorin said to Thranduil. It was not really a question but Thranduil understood that he meant it as such.

‘Tomorrow, I believe,’ Thranduil stated. ‘I would not leave until I was sure that all of you were well, or as well as could be expected, but there are things that must be seen to within my realm. Including the burial of our dead. That is best done near their homes.’

‘I am sorry for those deaths, Thranduil,’ Thorin told him seriously. Their fates were not of his making but everyone grieved for those lost in battle, no matter how inevitable the losses were.

‘Thank you,’ was all Thranduil said in response, but his tone was sincere rather than dismissive. ‘I will not bother with formal goodbyes, Thorin. Unlike Elrond and Galadriel I have every expectation of seeing you again quite soon. Should I not receive an invitation to your coronation I will be most hurt!’

Thorin laughed aloud and shook his head.

‘As if I would dare,’ he said, still chuckling. ‘Besides, I will look forward to seeing if you manage to get Legolas to sit properly for the whole ceremony.’

‘If you are truly my friend,’ Thranduil said with a pretence at a scowl, ‘you will not say that within his hearing. Until we meet again, Thorin.’

‘May your path be clear and your steps sure,’ Thorin answered, using a dwarven phrase meant to speed friends on their way. Thranduil raised a hand in response and moved away, collecting those of his party who had stood nearby and giving orders as they left.

‘And then there were none,’ Bofur intoned lightly.

‘I hardly think fourteen count as none,’ Thorin answered. ‘Thirteen,’ he corrected after a moment’s thought. ‘I forgot Glóin still slept.’

‘He ought to be awake by now,’ Óin stated. ‘The sedative will be wearing off. Hopefully this time he will be better.’

‘Better?’ Thorin questioned tersely. ‘I thought you said his wounds were healing well.’

‘As they are,’ Óin said with equal severity, ‘considering he was struggling to breathe after Azog was done with him! Unfortunately, his throat has still been very sore. The elves were not entirely sure if that was why he could not speak properly, or if there had been damage done that they had been unable to remedy.’

‘I still don’t understand how they could be unsure,’ Kíli put in. ‘They healed him, shouldn’t they know if he was cured fully or not?’

‘The body is not a sword or an axe, Kíli,’ Óin lectured. ‘You can’t just say, “there, I have reforged it and it is whole again”. Sometimes injuries do not follow the rules that we expect them to.’

‘Which is why they left the axe in my head,’ Bofur said suddenly, clearly translating for Bifur so that they would realise he was speaking. ‘No one knew what would happen if they took it out.’

‘Exactly,’ Óin agreed. ‘I do not know if Glóin’s voice will return or if it will not. Either way, he is alive rather than dead, which is a great deal better than things could have been.’

‘Well, let us go and find out if it has returned today then,’ Thorin commanded, walking away without waiting to see if they followed.

«««

It had not. Nor did it the next day. Or the day after that. A week passed, and then another, and still Glóin could not speak. Soon, the Company accepted that Glóin might never talk again. They grew used to Glóin signing as Bifur did, the similarity between their injuries making it easier to adapt to the change.

That first day, Thorin had asked the Company to leave him and Glóin alone to talk. They had sat silently for some time before Thorin had gathered his thoughts.

‘Were you trying to die?’ Thorin asked eventually, looking directly at his cousin so that he would not miss the answer. Glóin paused for a moment before responding.

‘Yes,’ he signed simply, taking Thorin’s breath. He had suspected. Glóin’s actions had been foolhardy, throwing himself against so strong a foe with so little care for his own safety. That did not necessarily mean he was trying to end his own life, however. Fíli had done much the same thing and had done it out of care for Thorin’s own life, rather than a lack of care for his own. It was only what had happened to Glóin beforehand that had made Thorin suspicious.

‘Glóin, why?’ Thorin asked, wanting to hear Glóin’s answer even if he already had an idea of what it would be.

‘The shame will not wash away while I live,’ Glóin answered, Iglishmêk making him more formal than he might otherwise have been. ‘It stains our house and my line. It stains Gimli and Famla. Death would have been right. My blood for his. To die for my King might have been seen as atonement for my crimes.’

‘The only atonement your King wishes for is that you live your life well,’ Thorin said without the slightest doubt. ‘If I had wanted you dead I would have let the Men execute you.’

‘To die with honour would be a good end,’ Glóin insisted. ‘It would earn respect from our people, not contempt.’ The way that Glóin’s hand moved towards his head made it clear what he meant by that.

‘Your family need you,’ Thorin told him, ignoring the violent shake of Glóin’s head. ‘They do, Glóin. Especially Gimli. There is no substitute for a living parent, no matter how honourable their death. Fíli and Kíli could tell you that. I am sure they would far prefer to have Vili here alive than to hear stories about how well he fought in the battle that claimed his life!’

Glóin did not respond. He seemed thoughtful and Thorin was relieved, though he could not be sure what Glóin was thinking. Glóin’s family would have enough to grieve them when they arrived in Erebor, without having to visit Glóin’s tomb. Which was why Thorin was going to make sure that did not happen.

‘I forbid you from deliberately harming yourself,’ he commanded Glóin firmly. ‘Once, you betrayed my trust and this is the personal recompense I demand. You will do all that you can to live and live with honour. I have hope that Mahal will forgive what you have done, in the end, but you will have to wait to find out. I will not have you meeting him any earlier than planned.’

‘Very well,’ Glóin signed eventually, his body showing his unhappiness. ‘As you command.’

The meeting ended tensely and even now, weeks later, Thorin could feel the tension remaining between them. He mourned it inside, but did not regret what he had done. Better to mourn a friend’s anger than to mourn for his friend.

««««««


	34. The Wheel Turns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now, both Erebor and her people can heal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the penultimate chapter - only an epilogue to go. An epilogue which is nearly as long as this chapter because some things never change and I am wordy as hell! Enjoy :D

Chapter Thirty-Four: The Wheel Turns

The first weeks of the reign of Thorin Oakenshield were filled with joy. With no dangers hanging over him, Thorin was fully able to appreciate the beauty of his kingdom once more and each day seemed to reveal long-forgotten wonders within the halls of the Mountain.

One day it was a mural from the royal apartments that Thorin only hazily remembered but which had been made with all the flair of craftsmen at the height of their skill. The scene, of Mahal’s crafting of the dwarves and the life given to them by Eru, fascinated many among the Company and a happy afternoon was spent in recounting the story to Bilbo, who was endlessly thrilled with the dwarven culture he was privy to. Ori spent many hours gazing at the mural in the days that followed, tracing the lines of it onto the parchment he held, apparently trying to learn from example how to craft such beauty. Nori was often to be found with him, apparently trying to ease his way back into his brother’s trust.

Another day, Bofur came running to find Thorin, telling him nothing except that he needed to come now. Had it not been for the wide grin that Bofur wore, Thorin would have thought that something was seriously wrong. Instead, he followed Bofur to the entrance to the old mines and then beyond into the darkness. Down here little had been touched by Smaug’s fury. Thorin followed Bofur as patiently as he could, reassured by the hand Bofur kept on the wall at all times. Bofur and Bifur kept in frequent contact with Erebor in these days, letting her guide them around the unfamiliar halls and pathways of their new home.

It was not until Thorin turned one last corner that he understood Bofur’s joy.

The cavern dazzled with light taken not from the sun but from the seams of precious metal that ran through the walls. The occasional trace of a gemstone could also be seen, some half-uncovered as if they had been in the process of being mined when work ceased in this cavern. It was the metal that truly took Thorin’s breath. Mithril. Dazzling in its purity, more precious to the dwarves than any other, and here in such quantities as none of the Company had ever seen before. Thorin, raised as Prince of Erebor, who had once owned mithril beads to wear in his hair, was as awestruck as all the rest.

‘The things we could make with this,’ Bofur murmured to himself. ‘Thorin, with the right materials we could make almost anything from what we have here.’

‘As we will,’ Thorin told him. ‘Yes, we will,’ he murmured more quietly. In some ways it almost did not matter what was made. It would be the act of making it that would be special. The chance to use materials that most craftsmen only dreamed of, to learn anew the ways that had been lost to them through time and fire. This was what it was to be a dwarf of Erebor.

«««

Of course, there were also sorrows to be borne. Glóin remained silent and withdrawn and often hid in the rooms that the dwarves used, out of the way of the men who remained while they were healing. Even after the Men left Erebor Glóin was seldom to be found with the others. It seemed that he was a shadow in Erebor’s halls, passing silently from one room to the next but leaving no impression behind. Óin stayed as close as he could most of the time and the rest of the Company tried what they could to draw Glóin out of his misery. There was work to be done, though, and on his worst days Glóin was deaf to his brother’s words and all but blank in his manner. They worried, all of them, but it seemed that their only hope was the arrival of Glóin’s family.

So, about two weeks after the elves had departed, Thorin sent Bombur with Gandalf to take word to Famla and Gimli that they were needed urgently in Erebor. A raven had already taken word to Dís that it was time for their people to come home but Thorin did not wish to wait as long as it would take for an entire caravan of people to make the journey. Better that Famla and Gimli were sent on ahead. Gandalf earned Thorin’s thanks when he assured Thorin that he would bring the two back to Erebor himself. Even the wizard was concerned at the change Glóin had undergone.

In retrospect, Thorin had been surprised that Bombur had not departed with Elrond and his people. His youngest would be some months old by now and Thorin was certain that Bombur was eager to see both the babe and the rest of his family again. When he asked Bombur why he had not left immediately, the bigger dwarf had laughed softly.

‘Thorin, I am healthier than I have ever been in my life, I will admit, but we have travelled and fought long in these last months. I was tired and I did not want to rejoin my family looking half-dead with exhaustion. I have been parted from them for long enough that a week or two would not make much difference. Had you not begun to talk of sending me back with Gandalf, I would have told you I was ready to make the journey very soon.’

This decision, unfortunately, led to a greater sorrow. Despite Thorin’s hopes after they had spoken on the way to Erebor, Bilbo announced that he too would make the journey west with Gandalf and Bombur. He, however, did not seem to be planning to return.

«««

When Bilbo came to tell Thorin of his departure, Thorin had stared at him in shock for some moments. Why this had not occurred to Thorin he did not know. Bilbo had never said for certain that he would remain in Erebor. Even when choosing his share of the treasure a week or more ago, Bilbo had spoken of what could be easily transported back to the Shire. Yet Thorin had allowed himself to hope and now he felt as if those hopes had been dashed.

‘You will not stay, then?’ Thorin asked Bilbo rather bluntly. He was not hurt, Thorin told himself, only a little disappointed.

‘I need to return to the Shire,’ Bilbo answered him. ‘I have a home there I have not seen in months and people who will wonder what has become of me.’ 

‘The odious Lobelia?’ Thorin queried, mouth quirking into a slight smile against his will at the thought of Bilbo’s violent dislike of his fellow hobbit. 

‘Lobelia will hope devoutly that I never return,’ Bilbo laughed, ‘which would be a very good reason to reappear in the Shire. Imagine her consternation! She will not be able to get her hands on my silverware after all.’ They both chuckled and then an awkward silence fell for several moments. 

‘If we asked, would you come back?’ Thorin questioned, looking at Bilbo hopefully and throwing pride to the wind. Dís had always told the boys that those who did not ask would not receive. Which had seemed like a dangerous lesson to teach their particularly mischievous lads but Thorin had never told her so. 

‘Is that a royal “we”, Your Majesty?’ Bilbo teased him, clearly trying to make light of both the situation and Thorin’s request. 

‘It is not,’ Thorin replied seriously, not wanting Bilbo to be at all uncertain of his welcome in Erebor. ‘You must know by now how well-loved you are amongst the Company. The boys are sure you have something to do with the fact that the sun rises every morning and they will be heart-broken when you leave. We told you at Beorn’s home that you were a part of our Company. A very important part. That does not change because the dragon is dead and the Mountain reclaimed, Bilbo.’ 

‘I am not a dwarf, though,’ Bilbo told him. ‘That is obvious enough just from looking at me. Erebor is a kingdom of dwarves.’ Now Thorin did feel like laughing again and gave in to the urge. 

‘Bilbo, if you think for a second that I will only ever have dwarves in my kingdom then you have not been paying attention these last few weeks. We have only just reclaimed Erebor and I have had Bard and Varr’s children tramping in and out as if the Mountain is their second home. Legolas and Tauriel have an open invitation to come whenever they like and Fíli and Kíli will have me smothered in my sleep if I try to revoke it. Balin, as far as I can tell, is in ongoing negotiations with the farmers of Lake-town to try and get rid of Smaug’s corpse and Nori told me earlier that he had spotted Halma approaching with a number of other Lake-towners, presumably to oversee the removal of the Men I have recuperating in what used to be a dining hall. Were it not for Dain and his soldiers, I would have more Men in my kingdom than dwarves right now.’ 

‘A fact which you do not sound entirely happy about,’ Bilbo pointed out, only to be firmly rebuked. 

‘I want my people to come home,’ Thorin said firmly. ‘I want Erebor to be the kingdom that it once was. What I _do not_ want is for it to be an isolated kingdom in which our friends feel unwelcome. I told you once that you were a dwarf in all but form, Bilbo. That is only truer after all that you have done for us. If you choose to return – _whenever_ you choose to return – the Company and the people of Erebor will be glad to see you.’ 

‘It is a long journey to the Shire,’ Bilbo said after another long pause. ‘Longer for a hobbit than for a dwarf. It would not be a journey I could make regularly. Indeed, if I chose to return to Erebor I might never go home again. You know how my people are, Thorin. You saw how we live. If I go home now I will ever be an oddity amongst my people. If I leave again…,’ Bilbo took a moment to think and then shook his head, ‘well, if I leave again then there would be little point in my returning to the Shire. Hobbits are not always kind to those who do not act as a hobbit should.’ 

‘I do not wish to separate you from your people,’ Thorin told Bilbo honestly. ‘I only wanted you to know that you have a place here and that we will miss you if you leave. If it is your wish to live in the Shire then I would have you do so. I want only for you to be happy, Bilbo, because you are my friend.’ 

‘And that is a great and strange thing for a simple hobbit to be able to say,’ Bilbo answered wonderingly, ‘that he can claim a King of Dwarves among his friends. I must return to the Shire, Thorin. That was always my plan. I do hope that we will see one another again though. I will miss all of you.’ 

Bilbo stepped forward and pulled Thorin into a hug, which Thorin accepted easily. In fact, he clung to Bilbo a little more firmly than he probably should have. The moment felt a little like the last time he had hugged Frerin, before they separated to take their own positions for the battle at Azanulbizar. This was the same fear, that it might be the last time he saw his brother in this life. Thorin tried to remind himself to have hope, though. He, of all people, should know that what seemed to be the end need not always be so.

«««

Halma had, in fact, come to take the last of Esgaroth’s injured home. She also came with news of the town and its goings-on, which she relayed to Thorin and the Company in a conversation soon after the departure of Gandalf, Bombur and Bilbo.

‘Many of those who remained in Lake-town when the rest of us left were… less than honest in their daily lives,’ Halma said. Thorin took this to mean that the criminal element had stayed behind. ‘While you and our men fought a battle against the orcs, those of us in the town fought a lesser battle to get back items that had been stolen because they had been left behind. Nairn and others among our elders did all that they could, as did we all, but it was difficult. In the Master’s absence Alfrid was trying to take control, as was Master Clune, and they both decided that having the dishonest on their side was a good way to go about it.’ 

‘Fools,’ Nori snorted in contempt. ‘Criminals are only loyal to you as long as it suits them to be. Alfrid and Clune would have anarchy within a month if they made themselves indebted to thieves.’ 

Dwalin and Dori both gave Nori hard stares but Nori simply pretended that he could not see them. 

‘Nairn said much the same,’ Halma responded. ‘He also told Varr, when the others returned, that it was high time he stopped pretending not to be in charge of Lake-town and got to work sorting everything out. I think Varr was surprised at how many people agreed with Nairn but he didn’t argue too long and things are coming back under control now.’ 

‘And Bard?’ Thorin asked, highly curious about what role he was taking in all of this. 

‘Bard has been helping Varr as much as possible,’ Halma said, then suddenly she smiled slyly at Thorin. ‘We’ve decided not to break the news that he will be leading the rebuilding of Dale to him just yet. We’ll send him up here to negotiate with you about the money we need, on the pretext that Varr can’t be spared from Lake-town, and see how long it takes him to realise what we’re up to.’ 

Much snickering could be heard, especially from Fíli and Kíli. Halma did not join them but her smile was no less canny. 

‘You’ll have a fight on your hands when he works it out,’ Balin warned her. ‘Bard was most determined that he did not want to lead.’ 

‘It is for the good of our people, Master Balin,’ Halma told him with false solemnity. ‘After all, they might otherwise end up with Master Clune or Alfrid trying to lead them in rebuilding Dale and we all know how that would end.’ 

‘Poor Bard,’ Dori commented, not entirely sincerely. The Company was on better terms with the Man now but they were not above taking a little joy from his inevitable discomfort. 

‘What do Bain and the girls think of all this?’ Bofur asked then. ‘I assume Eric, Mati and Alnir have accepted Varr’s place easily enough.’ 

‘Being the Master of Lake-town is not quite the same as being a King, my dear,’ Halma told him. ‘The boys’ lives won’t change that much. As for Bain, Tilda and Sigrid, I believe they will be happy to move to Dale if Bard can be convinced to take on its rule. Lake-town has been their home but it has not always been a happy one. They seem no more attached to it than they are to Erebor and the Woodland Realm these days.’ 

Bofur perked up and Thorin rolled his eyes. ‘No, Bofur!’ he said firmly, in unison with Balin, Dori and, surprisingly, Fíli as well. Bofur deflated with a slight pout on his face. 

‘I do not know what you are complaining about,’ Bifur told his cousin. ‘We have seen them twice since they went home and it is not as if they live far away.’ Bofur continued to pout but it did not seem all that genuine. He smiled widely enough when Halma took her leave and was soon teasing Bifur about the gifts he was sending back with her for the children. 

«««

 

Throughout all of this, Dain and his people had been helping the Company with the heavy work of setting Erebor to rights. Areas that had been marked off as too dangerous to be used were the first to be dealt with and Bofur and Bifur had their hands full leading the groups assigned to the repairs. It did not take long for someone among Dain’s people to realise that they were working alongside two stone-speakers and Bofur and Bifur both received separate offers of high-ranking positions if they went to the Iron Hills. Whether or not Dain was involved in these offers Thorin did not know, but he was not sad to see his cousin leave a week or so later, taking most of his host home with him. Outward change of heart or no, Thorin felt nervous while Dain and his main advisors remained near Erebor. 

Dain did leave some of his dwarves behind to help continue the rebuilding. Thorin needed to have Erebor at least partially ready to be inhabited when his people arrived and the remainder of the Company really needed the help. Fifty remained behind when Dain left, led by his eldest son, also named Thorin. Of an age with Fíli and Kíli, Thorin endeared himself to the Company with a blunt honesty that rivalled Dwalin’s. Having been invited with Thorin and his Company one evening, the younger Thorin began the evening by announcing, 

‘I have no wish to rule Erebor, Cousin, no matter what those idiots on my father’s council have to say. We’re perfectly fine in the Iron Hills and Erebor’s a lot closer to the elves than I prefer to be.’ 

‘I am glad to hear it,’ Thorin told him, trying to contain his amusement. Mahal but Dain’s councillors must hate this lad. He had not an ounce of guile in him, as far as Thorin could tell. Either that or he was fiendishly clever but Balin was as good a judge of character as anyone Thorin had ever met and he was smiling at the lad as well. 

‘Father doesn’t really want to rule Erebor either,’ the younger Thorin continued, undeterred by the Company’s startled amusement. ‘He just wants those old blowhards to stop wittering in his ear all the time. Having the Arkenstone would have shut them up for a while at least. He told me to pass on his apologies for what he said again. He said that I should reassure you that Mother would have his hide if he ever tried to take Erebor from you. She told Father years ago that if he upset Lady Dís she’d throw him in front of her so that Lady Dís could kill him while she escaped.’ 

At this point, Kíli succumbed to laughter and fell out of the chair he’d been sitting in. Fíli was gasping for breath but still managed to get out, 

‘Well, she knows Mum well enough.’ 

Even Balin was wiping tears of laughter away and Dori was shaking his head wonderingly as he stared at Thorin’s young namesake, while Thorin himself replied. 

‘I promise, Thorin, as long as your father stays within his own kingdom I will make sure Dís does not march on the Iron Hills.’ 

‘Good,’ the younger Thorin said, finally breaking into a smile of his own. ‘Mother will be relieved.’ 

So the weeks of recovery passed with rather less tension than they had begun. There was still a mix of sorrow and joy in the work they undertook. Every few days it was necessary to hold another burial within the deep halls of Erebor, returning the doomed citizens of the Mountain to the stone they had been made from. Thorin found more than one of those who had been so briefly under his command in those days, most identifiable only by jewellery he remembered well. The mines proved to be as heart-breaking as the guardroom had been. So many of their people had fled to this place in hope of sanctuary, or perhaps rescue. After each of these ceremonies Thorin called a halt to work for the day. The Company, at least, stayed close to one another. They needed their families in these moments. 

««« 

Just over three months after Gandalf had departed, he returned with Famla and Gimli in tow. Where he had found the horse he rode was anyone’s guess but even Thorin could tell that the animal was a wonderful specimen. The horse that Famla and Gimli rode was of lesser heritage and Gimli seemed fervently glad to part from it. Apparently Glóin’s son was not fond of riding. He was also no more likely to mince words than he had been the last time Thorin had seen him. 

‘If I have ridden hundreds of miles on that… thing, only to find that Father has done something stupid while we were getting here, I’m going to resurrect him so I can kill him again!’ Gimli pronounced loudly, apparently hoping to catch his father’s attention wherever he was. 

‘You will need to wait your turn,’ Famla told her son, sounding both concerned and furious. ‘He owes me at least two deaths for the worry he has put me through. Where is he?’ she barked at Thorin, who had the misfortune of being at the front of the party. 

‘Inside,’ was all Thorin managed. Before Famla could try to shake more detail out of him, Óin came to his rescue. 

‘This way, lass,’ Famla’s law-brother said, gesturing to the entrance to the Mountain. ‘I’ll take you to him.’

What happened between Famla and Glóin after her arrival at Erebor no one ever knew. She disappeared inside the room Glóin had been given and neither of them was seen for two days. Gimli lasted all of six hours before he reappeared, all but begging to be given work somewhere away from his parents. With all of the crashing and banging that was going on in there Thorin did not blame him in the slightest. Famla might well be murdering Glóin in that room but damned if Thorin was going to risk being caught up in the fray. Glóin was on his own.

Happily, whatever Famla had said or done reached Glóin even through his despair. When he entered the dining hall on the evening of the second day he was pale and slightly shaky, but he no longer stared blankly at nothing and was clutching Famla’s hand firmly. Gimli rushed over to his parents and was pulled into a fierce hug by both of them.

‘We’re alright now, don’t you worry,’ Famla told her son. ‘Your dad won’t be doing anything foolish and he’s promised me he’ll stop moping around.’

The rest of the Company politely pretended not to notice the time that the three spent holding each other. All of them relaxed when Glóin joined them at the table and signed that Bifur should pass him the mutton they had for dinner. Perhaps all would be back to normal soon.

«««

The next major event for Erebor was Dís’ arrival with the rest of their people. They had had a long journey and Dís had delayed their start to make sure they were not caught in the wild during winter. As it was, spring was turning into summer when the party finally arrived at Erebor. Beorn had sent word of their coming to Thorin after they had crossed the Misty Mountains, though he said that he had not approached them. Thorin was not surprised.

Beorn’s warning had enabled Thorin to prepare for their arrival. Lake-town’s farmers had lost some of their crops when the orcs marched on Erebor but there had been enough for all in the town and to supply Thorin and the dwarves as well. Though Thorin had no doubt that Dís had ensured that their people were provisioned for the journey, their return to Erebor required a proper celebration. Not only had Varr given them a very reasonable price for the food Thorin had requested, he had also sent some of his people along to help with the cooking. By the time the travellers approached Erebor the scent of roasting meat could be smelt even outside of the Mountain.

Not even travel dimmed the majesty of Erebor’s last Princess as she dismounted and strode up to her brother and King. Dressed in clothes not so different from Thorin’s own travel gear, Dís had her bow slung over her shoulder and a vicious-looking dagger which had once belonged to their mother at her hip. She let her eyes roam over Thorin and the Company, resting longest upon her sons, her face stern. Once she had satisfied herself that all who should be there were present, Dís took three steps forward and dropped to one knee before Thorin.

‘Hail, Thorin, King of Erebor,’ she said in a voice that echoed around the valley before Erebor’s gate. ‘I come to fulfil an oath. Before you, you see the people of Erebor, whom once you led in exile. We come now to build our kingdom once more.’

‘Hail, Sister,’ Thorin replied with a broad smile. ‘I am glad to see all of you and to receive you in the kingdom that should always have been ours. Be welcome in Erebor. It is my hope that we will prosper here, as once we did in days gone by.’

Then Thorin walked forward and drew Dís back to her feet.

‘A command performance, Sister,’ Thorin whispered in her ear as he embraced her. ‘Anyone would think you actually intended to let me rule Erebor, rather than coming to see what I have done to your kingdom in your absence.’

‘We must keep up appearances,’ Dís informed him equally quietly. ‘It would not do for your people to realise that you rule only at my pleasure.’ Then she poked him firmly in the ribs. ‘Now let me go, I need to see what damage you’ve done to Fíli and Kíli. Bombur and I had a _long_ conversation about beards and head injuries.’

Thorin let her go and moved swiftly to the side. If Bombur had already told her about Fíli’s beard then Thorin was lucky to be standing. He had no intention of pushing that luck. Watching his sister gather the boys close and fuss over them as much as Dís ever fussed, another part of Thorin’s heart knit itself back together. Finally, his people were home.

«««

The younger Thorin and the rest of Dain’s dwarves remained only until Thorin’s coronation was over. The arrival of Thorin’s people did not make them unnecessary, there was too much work to be done for that to be the case, but it did mean that they were not as vital to Erebor’s recovery as they had been. They were also homesick, Thorin thought, and more than ready to be with their own families once more.

The coronation itself was something Thorin took little part in organising. Protocol and ceremony were not his favourite parts of ruling and he far preferred to leave them to Balin and Dís. After the fourth time that Thorin had told Dís to do ‘whatever she felt was best’ when she asked him a question, Dís informed him that he was to do exactly as she told him on the day in question and not to think about making a single complaint if he wanted to keep all of his body parts. Thorin readily agreed and was allowed to get back to the important task of ensuring that all of the new arrivals had enough to eat and that the inevitable disagreements that arose were settled as fairly as possible.

In those days he tried to spend as much time among his people as he could. Ered Luin’s size meant that he was not unfamiliar to his people, though he had been gone for over a year now, but Thorin knew that he had not been a particularly approachable ruler. He wanted to try and remedy that now. He could not deal with every problem personally but there was no reason he could not continue working on the rebuilding as he had been for months.

Thus, when it became apparent that Erebor desperately needed the wells that had once supplied fresh water to its residents, Thorin worked beside Fíli and Kíli to clear the rubble from the well in the marketplace. It was hard work, lowering Kíli down as carefully as they could so that he could load the stone that blocked the water into a bucket and then hauling Kíli and the bucket back up again, but it was worth it when they winched their first bucket of clean water to the top.

Similarly, when Dori brought word that one of the kitchens was inaccessible because water had been leaking in through the ceiling and had rusted the hinges so that they were immovable, Thorin took on the task of forging new hinges which could be placed on the wooden door their carpenters were creating. It was not, perhaps, an important task in the scheme of things. It felt better than sitting around directing people in completing jobs that they were perfectly capable of doing on their own, though.

Fíli and Kíli were in their element. Though they had grown into true princes during the journey, this was the sort of work they were made for. Treaties and council meetings would never be enough to truly hold his nephews’ attention. Most of all, they enjoyed being among people and working with their hands. Erebor’s rebuilding gave them scope for both. Kíli ran the forges which produced whatever goods were needed with an iron fist that both impressed and amused Thorin, who had never seen Kíli so commanding.

‘No,’ Thorin witnessed Kíli scolding a Master Smith a hundred years his senior one day, ‘you do not get to jump the queue for a forge. I don’t care how senior you are in the guild,’ his nephew said more loudly when the dwarf tried to overwhelm Kíli with his status, ‘we need cooking pots a lot more than we need hair beads right now. You can wait your turn, just like everyone else.’

Fíli, for his part, barely stopped moving all day. When he was not with Thorin, dealing with whichever crisis had arisen that day, he spent his time apparently patrolling Erebor. Rather than checking for thieves and pickpockets, however, Fíli was on the hunt for arguments and dissent among their people. More than once a dwarf came running for Thorin to tell him that there was a disagreement brewing that might turn violent, only for Thorin to arrive to find that Fíli was already there, soothing frayed tempers and gently quelling complaints of unfairness.

‘Of course you need a house for yourself and your children, Mistress Ina,’ Fíli consoled a furious dwarrowdam one morning. ‘No one wishes for you to have to raise the little ones in a tent. Mistress Busla did not intend to imply your needs were less than her own. Her youngest is unwell and she is worried, that is all. We will have four more homes cleared by the end of the week if all goes well and then you will both be able to get your families settled again. Perhaps you could both send your older children to help fetch and carry for those who are clearing houses. It would make the work go faster and you would not have quite so many of them to keep track of all day. Mum says we drove her distracted when we were younger, never where she expected us to be from one moment to the next.’

By the time he was finished both women were nodding their heads and calling for their children to come and let Prince Fíli tell them where they were to go. The crowd that had gathered, hoping for a juicy scene, was already dispersing as it became apparent that they were not going to get one.

«««

Coronation day, Dís had announced, was to be a holiday for all. No work would be done and the crown would provide a feast for their people to celebrate the anointing of their King. The throne room had been little affected by Smaug’s coming and the walkways behind and around the sides had been cleared so that all would be able to witness the events. Dís had brought with her Thror’s crown, which Thorin had never worn when they lived in Ered Luin, and slight adjustments had been made so that it would fit properly.

The work that Dori had done on Thorin’s coronation robes was astonishing. The dark blue that Thorin had always preferred was the dominant colour, with the raven design of the royal crown picked out in silver and gold thread upon both Thorin’s cloak and surcoat. The cloak was lined with ermine, though Thorin had no idea how Dori had laid his hands upon the fur at such short notice, and was made of a velvet as deep a blue as the night sky. The surcoat was only a shade lighter, but it was of a lighter material. Upon seeing Thorin’s relieved face, Dori had smiled.

‘Did you think I was going to try and make you the first King of Erebor to roast to death at his own coronation, Thorin?’ the tailor asked.

‘Mother showed me a drawing of Thror at his coronation,’ Thorin replied. ‘I am surprised he did not faint from the heat!’

‘Well, there’s no need to fear you’ll do so,’ Dori assured him. ‘The shirt is as light a linen as I could find,’ he gestured to the silvery garment hanging nearby, ‘and the breeches are not so different from the ones you normally wear except that they’re new. There was no need to go to too much effort with those, they’ll barely be visible anyway.’

Thranduil and Legolas had both been invited, as had Varr and Bard. The latter had finally accepted that he would be ruling Dale when it was rebuilt and so was attending as the Lord of that city. The night before had been the first time the Company had been reunited with both Elves and Men since the Battle of the East and it had been a happy gathering. Legolas and Tauriel had barely set foot in the room before they were dragged away by Fíli and Kíli, who were being introduced to the game of Hoodman Blind by Bard and Varr’s children and announced loudly that they needed more players. Short moments later, Legolas found himself with an armful of Alnir, determined to tell the Prince all about his skills at swordplay. Poor Ori had already been dragged into the game and Bofur and Bifur had volunteered as well.

Thranduil willingly surrendered his son to his fate and settled in near the fire to exchange news with Thorin and the rest of the adults who had escaped being captured by the children.

‘And so tomorrow you will be crowned,’ he said quietly to Thorin at one point. ‘A major occasion, most would say.’

‘Most have not already been ruling their people for years before they reach a coronation,’ Thorin pointed out dryly. ‘Tomorrow is about the spectacle for our people, nothing more. I very much doubt it will change anything at all.’ Thranduil chuckled lightly.

‘No, I do not suppose it will,’ the Elven King told Thorin. ‘It was a good reason for a visit, though, and for a celebration. Not something to be dismissed lightly.’

‘Not at all,’ Thorin agreed. ‘I will have to marry one of the boys off in the next couple of years, so that you will have another reason to visit.’

‘Or I could try to marry Legolas off,’ Thranduil commented. ‘He has been particularly irritating of late – perhaps if I married him to Galadriel’s handmaiden she would agree to keep him for a few hundred years.’

Thorin nearly choked on the mouthful of wine he was drinking. Thranduil’s sense of humour was as dry as it had ever been. Thorin’s heart twinged as he thought of the hobbit who should be here, using his own dry sense of humour to poke fun at dwarves and elves and their strange ways. Bilbo was ever missed, especially on a day such as this.

«««

The coronation itself passed easily enough. Balin and Dís had outdone themselves and had also, much to Thorin’s relief, kept the ceremony short. As Thorin’s sister and the representative of their people, Dís had placed the crown upon Thorin’s head, then prompted him to speak the words which would ritually bind him to Erebor and her people.

‘Will you swear to govern your people fairly and justly?’ Dis asked him. ‘Will you administer the laws of our people in the spirit they were intended?’

‘I will,’ Thorin answered. ‘For loyalty, I will give loyalty in turn. For law-breaking, justice. To the weak, I promise protection. To allies, I promise Erebor’s alliance in turn. In time of war, I will fight our enemies. In times of peace, I will work to see peace kept. Those who obey Erebor’s laws shall have naught to fear and those who give advice in good faith shall always be heard. So promise I, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King of Erebor.’

‘Then rise, my King,’ Balin stated. ‘I give to you the book of our laws, that you might use it to rule wisely all your years.’

Dwalin then stepped forward from one side. As the Captain of Erebor’s guard, the next duty fell to him. To Thorin, Dwalin handed the ceremonial sword which had been stored in a box in Thror’s room, kept safe all these years. ‘I give to you the sword of Durin, to be used ever in protection of our people,’ Dwalin announced, deep voice carrying easily in the quiet of the throne room.

Next was Fíli, as Thorin’s heir. He wore a simple circlet fashioned of mithril which had at one time belonged to Frerin, though Thorin could remember his brother wearing it only once. In his hands was a ring forged by Kíli to replace that which had been lost with Thrain. Kili and Ori had worked long on the design and what they had produced was truly beautiful. Also of mithril, it was engraved with a stunningly detailed representation of the Mountain, with the moon of Durin’s Day shining above. The runes on the inside of the band, though they would never be seen by any other than Thorin, carried a message to remind Thorin of his duty. As Fíli presented the ring, he uttered these words solemnly.

‘Our people are the heart of our Mountain,’ Fíli told Thorin. ‘Wear this ring so that you will remember that how they live their lives reflects upon you.’

Thorin had not known that this part of the ceremony had been changed. In years gone by he would have been given the ring and told to remember his lineage and the duty he owed to his lords for their support. Hearing this new promise, Thorin’s throat felt blocked as he swallowed and nodded to Fíli, hearing again his mother’s voice.

Last of all, Kíli approached Thorin upon the dais. In his hands he held Dílna and Dís’ life’s work, the Book of Heroes. It was bound in dark blue leather, with the dwarven rune for remembrance upon the cover.

‘It is the duty of kings to remember those who came before and learn from their actions and mistakes,’ Kíli said seriously, placing the book in Thorin’s hands. The sword was now belted around Thorin’s waist and the ring was on his finger, but Balin’s book he had to place swiftly upon the table that had been set upon the dais. ‘This is our history. Remember it and those who come after will remember you in turn.’

Their jobs done, Balin, Dwalin, Fíli and Kíli left the dais. Dís moved to one side, so that Thorin stood alone before his throne. Now the final words were Thorin’s.

‘People of Erebor,’ he called so that he could be easily heard, ‘I have made my promises to you this day. Will you give me yours in turn?’

At that a roar went up around the room. The Elves and Men were clearly startled by this turn of events, but such had always been the way of the dwarves. Any king who started his reign with lukewarm approval from his people knew to watch his step, but Thorin had no need to fear. Erebor’s people had spoken.

What happened next passed swiftly into legend. Those who had witnessed it swore all their lives that it had truly happened, while those who had not been present called them dreamers and dismissed it as an exaggeration.

Above the throne, light began to gather. It was not the pure white most people associated with light, nor the dim yellow of candlelight. Instead, it was the bright red of a lit forge, setting the room ablaze. It grew and grew until the nimbus engulfed the throne and Thorin’s form. In fact, many of those present worried that their new King might be burnt alive. Then from that light came a voice Thorin knew well.

‘Hail, Thorin, King of Erebor,’ Mahal intoned formally. ‘Long may you reign and long will your line endure.’ Then, as suddenly as it had come, the light was gone.

«««

‘You enjoyed that,’ Mahal accused Eru in their far distant realm. Mahal had only intended to make sure his approval of Thorin was heard, so that there would be no objection to Thorin’s rule. The display of light was entirely Eru’s doing. Typically, however, Eru did not respond.

««««««


	35. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Company of Thorin Oakenshield, and others, build their home at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The times here are all counted from the last scene of Chapter 34. They don't follow on from one another. I hope that makes sense - I managed to confuse myself a little :P
> 
> Long author note at the bottom for anyone who's bored! Finally, some of this is only for those with a sweet tooth - you have been warned!!

Epilogue: Home

_Three months later…_

Dori sighed heavily as he pushed open the door to the home he shared with Ori. He wondered if Ori would be here yet. Between Dori’s work in the Tailor’s Guild and Ori’s continued training in stewardship with Balin they had not seen each other in nearly a week. If Ori was not here then Dori was going to go and find him and insist that Balin release him for the evening. Now that he'd had finally dealt with the disagreement with the Clothmaker’s Guild he wanted to spend some time with his brother.

As Dori stepped into the hallway he became aware that someone _was_ in the house… but that person did not feel like Ori. Old habits died hard and Dori still wore his flail at his belt every day. It came in useful when he needed to deal with particularly stubborn idiots. Now he carefully took hold of the weapon as he tried to step as quietly as possible into the kitchen.

‘There is no need to be so nervous, Dori,’ Nori’s voice greeted him from the kitchen table. ‘I promise I am not here to steal from you or murder you in your sleep.’

‘Which I would have known if you had not been sat there in the dark,’ Dori snapped in exasperation, moving to the fireplace to get the fire going before lighting a candle or two. ‘Really, Nori, were the dramatics necessary?’

‘I was not being dramatic,’ Nori argued in return. ‘I was waiting for you to get back. What were you doing out so late anyway?’

‘Working,’ Dori said shortly. In all the months since Erebor had been reclaimed, he had seen Nori only when the whole Company was gathered together. Dori knew that Ori was in touch with their brother and that he had been supplying Nori with the funds that he needed to live, but that was all. He had meant what he had said after the fiasco with Glóin and the Master. ‘Why are you here, Nori?’

‘I had something to show you,’ Nori told him quietly, reaching for an object which had been resting against his leg. Dori considered him for a moment and then gestured for Nori to continue. As tired and out of patience as Dori was today this had better be good.

What Nori had brought with him was cloth of some kind and he placed it on the table before unrolling it carefully. When Dori leaned forward to look, he saw that it was a very small tapestry, done in hues of red, gold and shimmering blue. It depicted Thorin’s coronation ceremony and the light that had surrounded their King in the moment after he had been accepted by his people. Dori instinctively reached out to touch the tapestry, running his fingers along the edges of the globe of light and the pillar designs to either side.

‘This is your work,’ Dori murmured softly, raising his head to stare at his brother. ‘It is the same style you used when Mum was still alive to teach us. You were always better at this than I was. How long?’

‘How long have I been practising?’ Nori clarified. ‘Since we had the materials available to practice with. My first few attempts were embarrassingly terrible, but it began to come back after that. This is the first piece that I could actually show you without you laughing me out of the room.’

Dori continued to brush his fingertips over the design, finding the places where there were slight gaps in the weave instinctively. The work was no less impressive for these gaps, however. For one who had barely touched a loom in years it was astoundingly good.

‘It is for Thorin, I take it?’ Dori asked. ‘He will be touched by the gift.’

‘It’s for you,’ Nori told his brother quietly. When Dori looked at him again, Nori made sure to hold his gaze. ‘You said give up stealing or give up my family. If I can do this – if I can make my way without thievery and without having to rely upon you and Ori for every penny – will you believe I have chosen my family?’

Dori’s breath felt short. Tears were burning at the back of his eyes. It was a hope he had all but given up. A hope he had not dared to look at for months. Nori would be safe. He would come home. Dori could have his brother again. Still, there was something he had to check before he could truly believe.

‘You can be happy with this?’ he asked Nori. ‘You will not make yourself miserable just to appease me?’

‘I will not,’ Nori assured him quickly. ‘One day, I will turn that mural Ori loves so much into a tapestry he can hang in his room so that he can always see it. That is my challenge now and that is all I have ever needed. A challenge and the chance to prove I can do well at something.’

‘You will do it,’ Dori said with utter certainty. ‘This is truly remarkable work, Nori, better than some who spend their whole lives in the pursuit of their craft. You will be as good as Mum, if not better.’

‘Then you will take me back?’ Nori asked, sounding vulnerable in a way that he so seldom allowed himself to be. The ache Dori had carried in his heart for months eased in that moment.

‘Your room is waiting for you upstairs,’ Dori responded calmly, though a hint of his joy came through in his tone. ‘Ori arranged it as he thought you would like but there should be plenty of space for your own things as well. This,’ he picked the tapestry up and cradled it gently, ‘this can go in Ori’s library, I think. Until you have finished his other gift at least. Then we will find somewhere else for it.’

As he passed Nori on his way to the hall, Dori rested his hand upon his brother’s shoulder. For just a second, he felt Nori’s cheek come to rest upon the back of his hand, a small wet patch transferring from Nori’s skin to his own.

‘It is good to have you home, Brother,’ Dori said softly.

‘Not as good as it is to be home.’

«««

_Four months later…_

‘Is that all of them?’ Thorin asked Thranduil, even as he and Fíli scanned the forest for traces of their opponents. Dwalin was casually hacking through the spider corpses around them to make sure they were truly dead.

‘I believe so,’ Thranduil answered, though his own eyes also tracked every movement nearby. ‘Tauriel!’ the Elven King called out.

‘Here, my lord,’ the red-headed elf answered almost immediately, dropping out of a tree nearby. ‘I can see no more of them, nor can any of our people. Legolas was farthest out though.’

‘They are gone,’ Legolas confirmed as he, too, jumped to the ground out of nearby foliage. ‘There were a few young ones hidden in a nest half a league from here but Haldir and Kíli made short work of them according to Rumil. Can you feel any others, Father?’

Concentrating hard, Thranduil focused all of his attention on his realm. In the days when darkness had lived in Dol Guldur it had dominated his every sense of the forest. As that power waned, however, Thranduil’s perceptions grew clear once more and finding the pockets of infestation had grown far easier. Now, stretching his mind out, Thranduil could feel nothing but remnants of evil for miles.

‘This section is clear,’ he told those around him. ‘There are no spiders within our realm.’

‘Now we need only find the ones who lie outside of our realm,’ Tauriel said, sharing a wicked smile with Legolas. ‘I bet you a bottle of Elrond’s finest wine that I can kill more than you can.’

‘It will bring me great joy to win that bottle from you,’ Legolas answered, giving chase when Tauriel threw a handful of dirt at him before turning tail and sprinting away. Only seconds later Fíli followed them.

‘Children!’ Thranduil called after them, before sighing wearily. ‘I do not understand how they have the energy,’ Thranduil told Thorin in a beleaguered voice. ‘We have been doing this for weeks.’

‘Such, I am told,’ came Thorin’s rejoinder, ‘is the blessing of being among Eru’s firstborn children.’

Thranduil growled at him slightly – a sound Thorin had never expected to hear out of an elven mouth – before subsiding with a shake of his head.

‘Come along then,’ Thranduil said heavily. ‘We had best catch them up before Legolas convinces your nephews to follow him into the heart of the forest with no provisions and when they are running short of arrows.’

Together, the Kings of the East began their hunt for their errant children.

«««

_Six months later…_

‘Da!’ a small voice called sharply from the door to Erebor’s royal kitchens. ‘Da!’

‘Well, hello, Mistress Bifa,’ Bombur responded as he walked to the door. ‘What brings you here so early in the morning?’

‘Da!’ his daughter repeated again, holding her arms up impatiently. This was her first and apparently favourite word, for she had used it at every available opportunity for the last two days. So far, Bombur, Nula, Bifur, Bofur, Thorin, Dwalin and Dís had all become ‘Da’.

‘According to your daughter, she is now also the child of two bakers and the fruit-seller,’ Bombur’s wife said with false irritation as she followed Bifa through the door. ‘By the time she learns a new word I will have no reputation left to speak of.’ Bombur laughed softly at her.

‘She will hardly be the first lass to use a new word with abandon,’ he told Nula with a smile, hoisting his daughter up into his arms.

‘Ma says I called Cousin Nuri “Ma” for three months,’ Bombur’s second-oldest child, Bolli, announced proudly as he approached his father and reached up to poke his little sister and make her giggle.

‘So you did,’ Bombur agreed. ‘Cousin Nuri was horrified.’ Nula’s cousin was a sour old dwarrowdam who had never married or had children and had no patience with them at all. Bolli, with all the instincts of a cat who has found one who cannot stand cats, had attached himself to her for months before finally losing interest.

‘What brings you all to visit me?’ Bombur asked in some confusion as the rest of his children suddenly popped up from wherever they had been hiding. ‘I had not expected to see you until this evening.’

‘Ma has a secret,’ Bifa’s older sister Mábil cried gleefully, only to be shushed swiftly by her older siblings.

‘A secret?’ Bombur said slowly, suspicion dawning as he looked at Nula’s knowing smile. ‘And what secret would that be?’ Nula said nothing, looking at Mábil and nodding her head gently.

‘There’s going to be another babe!’ Mábil shouted, joined by all of the other children in a ragtag chorus. Bombur laughed joyfully as he stepped forward to gather his wife into a hug, before kneeling to be swarmed by his excited children.

‘At this rate we’ll have doubled Erebor’s population in 50 years,’ Nula said wryly, but Bombur was not fooled. Nula adored their children and every one was a new delight for her, as they were for Bombur. Now that they did not need to worry about how they would feed the little ones, they would be glad to raise as many as Mahal chose to give them.

«««

_7 months later…_

The work to rebuild Dale had been slow to begin with. Bard had moved to the city not long before Thorin’s coronation, as the weather had begun to improve, hoping to make the city habitable in a few months. Unfortunately, the rubble from Smaug’s attack had never been moved and it had littered all of the main paths in and out of the city, hampering any attempt to bring in supplies or to access certain parts of the town. In the beginning, only a few of Lake-town’s citizens had followed Bard and his children to Dale and they had lived in an encampment outside the city for many weeks. Clearing the debris was hard, physical work and more than one of those who had originally decided to move to the new Dale had returned to Lake-town when they grew tired of the toil and the discomfort.

Those who had remained, however, had persevered. Over the summer months Thorin had sent a number of stone-masons to help with the rebuilding. Bifur had been among them, so that he could aid with testing the structures and identifying those too damaged to be rebuilt. The dwarves had returned to Erebor when the first snows fell and work had paused as Dale settled in for a hard winter. The snow still remained but they were enjoying milder weather as the Men’s year began and Bifur and Bofur had been dispatched to bring supplies to Dale while the good weather held.

‘Bifur!’ Tilda shouted from atop the outer wall of the town, waving madly as they steered the cartload of goods up the mountain path. Bifur waved back as best he could whilst steering the cart, then Tilda disappeared and the gates began to creak open.

‘You’re here, you’re here,’ Tilda cried as she descended the last steps off the wall, not even waiting for the cart to stop before she launched herself into it. Bifur soon had her in his lap with her arms twined about his neck. He returned the hug gently, then disentangled her so that they could both step down.

‘You’re all still here then,’ Bofur called cheerfully to Bard as the man entered the courtyard before the gate.

‘We are indeed,’ Bard responded, ‘and glad to see these supplies, make no mistake. To think I thought it was cold living on the water.’ Bofur laughed and translated when Bifur signed a reply.

‘There’s nowhere so cold to live as on the top of a mountain,’ Bifur told Bard. ‘You should have tried hollowing it out instead of building on the outside.’

‘I’m afraid mining is something we will have to leave to the dwarves, Bifur,’ Bard replied. ‘We prefer the open air. Though I will confess I normally prefer it a little warmer than this.’

Sigrid had come down with her father and now she, too, moved forward to give the two dwarves proper greetings.

‘It is so good to see you,’ she murmured into Bofur’s ear, though not so quietly that Bifur could not hear her. ‘We have not seen anyone but each other for months. I have had to throw that idiot Dyre over my shoulder five times since you left. Every time he catches me alone he tries to do something improper.’

Oh did he, indeed? Bifur thought to himself. Well, Bifur would put a stop to that soon enough once he found the little weasel. No one laid their hands on Bifur’s lasses.

‘You have not told your Da or Bain?’ Bofur asked while Bifur was fashioning appropriate punishments in his head.

‘No,’ Sigrid answered in a whisper. ‘Da would cause a ruckus and we need Dyre’s Ma and her skills to survive the winter. Bain… Bain is not the same as he used to be.’

Bofur and Bifur exchanged a long look at that comment, but this was neither the time nor the place to question Sigrid further.

In the end, they did not have to.

After sharing dinner with Bard and his family, and accepting the shelter that Bard had offered them for the night, Bifur and his cousin joined Bard in his study to exchange news on recent happenings. What Bard had to say both did and did not surprise the pair.

‘Bain has reached an awkward age, I fear,’ Bard told them late in the evening, after he had sat silently for some time. ‘Or perhaps it is less his age and more his new position. The more the people here treat me like a Lord, the more they treat Bain as a Lord’s son. It was not so bad when he still saw Eric and Mati fairly often but with our isolation over the winter the attention has gone to his head.’

‘Gone to his head?’ Bifur questioned. It was a mark of how much time he had spent with Bard and the children that Bard did not require a translation.

‘Aye,’ the man sighed. ‘It is still only little things at this stage. Sigrid tells me that he insists on some of the younger lads calling him ‘my lord’ and that he would not listen when she scolded him. When I am not in hearing he complains that he should be allowed to practice with his bow and study battles instead of helping with the rebuilding. Apparently, he expects to leads troops into battle someday.’

‘Young lads,’ Bofur said with a chuckle. ‘He will look back on this in a few years and feel a right fool.’

‘So I hope,’ Bard answered. ‘Tilda will certainly do her best to make sure he feels foolish. As long as I can nip this in the bud now…’

‘What do you plan to do?’ Bifur asked. ‘I assume you are telling us this because you would like our help.’

‘I would,’ Bard agreed, ‘or rather, I had hoped for Thorin’s. In times of old Bain would have been fostered elsewhere for a year or two, so that he could be taught certain aspects of rule away from his own city. I hardly have a city to rule at the moment, but I thought that if Bain could be around Fíli and Kíli and see how they handle their positions, it might remind him that being the heir to a city is not about throwing your weight around.’

‘Aye, that would do him good, most likely,’ Bofur said with a nod. ‘Let us take him back with us and we’ll see what we can do.’

Bard gave one of the slight smiles that meant he was pleased and Bifur began thinking anew. Bain, it would seem, would need a few lessons in humility. Dwalin would be pleased. He always enjoyed reminding the young ones of how far they had to go.

«««

_Two years later…_

‘I’ve checked the food for the feast with Bombur and the cooks and I’ve got the servants cleaning out the guest rooms to house Thranduil and the Elves and Bard and his Men, but now Gandalf has turned up with Elladan and Elrohir and I don’t know who takes precedence and which of them needs to go where and…’

‘Ori,’ Balin said firmly, then again louder, ‘Ori!’ Once he had Ori’s attention Balin held his hands out in a gesture to keep calm. ‘It is alright. This is to be a small celebration. I have already told you that it is a practice for the one we will hold in three years’ time, which is why I have left you in charge. If we have more guests than we anticipated then it is not the end of the world. The worst that will happen is that we have to apologise to the twins and tell them that we had already assigned the better rooms elsewhere. I am sure they will not mind. They have certainly seen enough unexpected guests arrive in their father’s home.’

‘I know,’ Ori said, tone still slightly miserable, ‘but I want everything to go well. I have to prove I can do this job when you’re not here to do it.’

‘Well, I hope that that will be many years in the future, lad,’ Balin teased with a gentle tap on Ori’s head. ‘Unless you are planning to kill me off sometime soon.’

‘No, of course not,’ Ori exclaimed, before realising he was being teased.

‘Good,’ Balin answered. ‘Then you have nothing to fear, for there will be plenty of chances to prove yourself. If you need help then Dís and I are here. We are all learning, Ori. She and I have not run a kingdom on the scale of Erebor before either. Especially not now we have so many people wanting to move here from other colonies. We will get there.’

Ori took a few steadying breaths, then straightened his shoulders and set his face into calmness.

‘I’ll go and get Fíli and Kíli,’ he told Balin firmly. ‘The smaller guest rooms have been used to store some of the food for the feast because the storerooms were full. If we are going to use them it will have to be moved. They are supposed to be shadowing Thorin today, but they disappeared when Elladan and Elrohir arrived. There is no reason the two of them cannot help if I can find them.’

‘There you go,’ Balin said fondly. ‘There is always a way around the problem and if it means you get to keep the boys out of mischief as well, all the better.’

Watching his apprentice march off in search of the wayward Princes, Balin decided that all was right in his world. Ori would, indeed, do him proud.

«««

_Three years later…_

It was a very different world he lived in now, Glóin mused on the evening of the anniversary of the Battle of the East. He had not often thought about what his role would be in Erebor once it had been retaken. He had assumed that he would continue running the business he and Óin had inherited from their father many years ago, staying well out of the way of politics. After the gold-sickness had taken him, he had thought for a long time that he would have no role whatsoever. Who would ever trust one who had been dishonoured enough to trade with him? Certainly the Men near Erebor would have nothing to do with Glóin when it came to trading.

Some of this despair had been shaken out of him when Famla arrived. Mahal but his beloved could shout. She had done little else for nearly two days, but when she had finished Glóin had been forced to admit that perhaps the world was not over. She was still with him and so was Gimli. He would have to be strong for them.

The family business had come apart naturally, however. Óin was more interested in his healing now and he spent a fair amount of time among the elves, learning all that Malial and his colleagues could teach. When in Erebor, Óin was busy with his own students, determined that the knowledge he was gaining would never be lost. For some time, Glóin had floundered despite his newfound determination not to give up.

Then Thorin had proved that he was as mad as Gandalf’s wizard friend (who had appeared in Erebor one day, stayed only a night and then disappeared without ever saying why he had come).

‘Negotiations?’ Glóin had signed to Thorin disbelievingly. ‘You want me to be in charge of trade negotiations with the Men and the Elves?’

‘I do,’ Thorin had answered as if this was a completely sensible idea.

‘Thorin, I can’t speak!’ Glóin had pointed out, though Mahal knew it ought to have been obvious.

‘Which is why, eventually, you will take Gimli with you and train him while he translates for you,’ Thorin had stated. ‘As he is still finishing his arms training with Dwalin, however, Famla has said that she will help you until he is done.’

Famla had agreed…. Exactly how many people had been arranging his life behind his back, Glóin had wondered? How many people had missed the obvious problem here?

‘They will never agree to it,’ Glóin had signed with short, choppy gestures. ‘To the Men I am a murderer.’

‘To Varr and Bard you are a person who was ill and has now been healed. They will make sure that whoever comes to negotiate with you is of a similar mind, I am sure. I am told that Ragna’s husband is a merchant, he might well be chosen.’

‘The uncle of the man I killed,’ Glóin had stated, sure that his disbelief was still clear on his face.

‘Glóin, if you did not hide in Erebor where you never see Men, you would know that much has changed since Varr took charge. His people respect him greatly and after the Battle he put it about that he thought losing your voice on top of your punishment was more than enough suffering for an action committed during an illness. Halma tells me that many people in both Lake-town and Dale agree with him. This is not the budding disaster you think it will be.’

‘This is what you would have of me?’ Glóin had asked Thorin when he had finished talking, still convinced that his cousin was the one suffering from madness.

‘It is,’ Thorin had confirmed.

‘Very well, then,’ Glóin had agreed. ‘On your head be it.’

Yet, to Glóin’s surprise, Thorin had been right. The Men Glóin dealt with never gave the slightest hint that they were angry at having to deal with a murderer, or gave him any insult at all. Glóin had more trouble with Thranduil’s steward, who was exactly the sort of tight-fisted penny-pincher Glóin had been when he traded in Ered Luin. Glóin would return home raging about the elf’s unreasonable demands, but inside he could admit that he admired the steward’s tenacity.

And so the years passed. First Famla and then Gimli helped Glóin adjust to dealing with those who could not understand him. It did not take long for Glóin to begin carrying parchment, quill and ink with him wherever he went. As Bifur had told Glóin soon after his injury, you become accustomed to anything in time. Even, Glóin had discovered, being the only truly bald dwarf in Erebor.

Which was why Glóin had been so surprised when Gimli came down for breakfast this morning, gasped and stared at Glóin’s scalp. It was not as if the baldness was a new thing, after all. Gimli had seen him this way every day for over three years. There was no need for him to run back out of the room as if Smaug was chasing him. Glóin had been hurt as much as surprised. Gimli had always claimed that he did not care that Glóin’s shame was there for all to see.

‘Father, look!’ Gimli had insisted when he ran back into the room holding a mirror in his hand. Then Glóin had been angry as well. What was there to look at that Glóin had not seen a thousand times before? Reaching out, he had pushed the mirror away irately.

‘No, Father, please, look,’ Gimli had pleaded again, pushing the mirror back towards him. Studying his son closely, Glóin had realised that Gimli was truly sincere in his desire. Still a doting father despite his anger, Glóin had taken the mirror and looked into it. When he did, he was glad beyond measure for Gimli’s tenacity.

There, upon both his head and his chin, were the first bristles of hair Glóin had had for over three years. His voice might never work again but it seemed that Mahal had decided his punishment was over.

Glóin and Gimli had been late to their meeting with Legolas and Thranduil’s steward that morning, but when the two elves saw the change all was forgiven instantly.

«««

_Four years later…_

Standing on the gate overlooking his kingdom, Thorin felt a sense of contentment that had become familiar in the last few years, though it had been utterly foreign to him up until that point. All of his people awoke in their own homes this morning, except for those who chose not to. There were no tents left in Erebor now. There was no hunger except that which Thorin could do nothing about. He was not naïve. He could not force his people to live wisely and there would always be those who squandered what they had and then suffered the consequences. Now, however, he had the comfort of knowing that the lives of most who lived in Erebor reflected well upon their King. The rebuilding would be an ongoing project for years to come, but on this day there were enough homes for all.

‘You’re doing it again,’ Dwalin complained as he walked up to Thorin.

‘Doing what?’ Thorin asked with forced patience. ‘It is not moaning, at least, which is more than can normally be said for you.’

‘You try training the fools I get sent to be guardsmen and see how cheerful you are,’ Dwalin grumbled.

‘You could always go to the council meetings instead,’ Thorin suggested innocently. ‘I am willing to trade roles if you are.’

In response, Dwalin kicked him. Hard.

‘That is probably treason,’ Thorin told him.

‘You can see how much that concerns me,’ Dwalin responded as he slouched against the wall behind him. Then, he straightened slightly and pointed at Thorin. ‘See, there, you are doing it again!’

‘Oh, for Mahal’s sake,’ Thorin muttered. ‘What, Dwalin? What is it I am doing that is so offensive?’

‘ _Smiling_ ,’ Dwalin declared, as if this should be obvious. ‘You have done nothing but smile for nearly a week. It’s unnatural.’ Thorin called him a name that would have Dís washing his mouth out in a trice.

‘That’s more like it,’ Dwalin said approvingly. ‘Much more like you, at least.’

‘If you wished me to be miserable forever you should not have worked so hard on scheduling your guards to help get the last homes ready before the anniversary next week,’ Thorin pointed out dryly.

‘That had nothing to do with you,’ Dwalin insisted. ‘The physical work was good for them. Those shifts helping the masons kept the lazy sods from sitting on their arses in taverns, drinking beer and getting fat when they should have been practicing their weapons drill.’

‘Of course it didn’t,’ Thorin agreed, though he did not work too hard to hide his complete disbelief.

‘Oh, shut up,’ Dwalin retorted. Thorin took that as the victory it was.

‘My brother is looking for you, oh mighty King of Erebor,’ Dwalin said after a pause. ‘Some crisis involving parchment, probably. It normally is.’

So much for his peaceful moment to enjoy the fruits of their labour, Thorin thought as he pushed himself upright and set off to find Balin. The King’s work was never done.

«««

_Ten years later…_

Uncle was going to be a nightmare when he got hold of them, Fíli thought bleakly as he approached Erebor beside his brother. In fact, the only thing worse was going to be Mum’s reaction. In hindsight, leaving a letter explaining that they were going on a journey and would be back before the tenth anniversary celebrations, they promised, might not have been the best move. Now they could not claim to have been kidnapped and dragged away from Erebor against their will, which was just about the only eventuality that would have lessened Mum and Uncle’s wrath.

Ori was going to say ‘I told you so’ until the end of time. Damn him.

There was no chance of a quiet return by the look of it. The figure standing before the front gate was definitely Uncle and he seemed to have the entire royal court with him. Fíli was not sure if this made things better or worse. It might delay the tongue-lashing they were about to receive, but it all depended on how angry Mum was. She might just start in on them anyway, despite the potential embarrassment of admitting that the Crown Prince had absconded with his brother for several months with no explanation.

‘I don’t think we thought this through very well,’ Kíli moaned softly as they got nearer and nearer to their doom. ‘Mum will kill us.’

‘Only if Uncle does not beat her to it,’ Fíli replied, eyeing Thorin’s thunderous expression warily.

‘Do stop wailing, both of you,’ their companion ordered snippily. ‘Let me deal with Thorin.’

Then, suddenly, Bilbo picked up speed and slipped out from behind them to approach Thorin himself.

‘Hail, Thorin, King under the Mountain,’ Bilbo called out. ‘It has been long since last we met.’ Then Bilbo’s formal tone disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. ‘I hope my invitation is still good. The boys assured me that it was but I’m never sure how far to believe them.’

‘Bilbo!’ Bofur shouted happily, completely ignoring protocol and rushing forward to embrace their hobbit. ‘You’ve come home.’

‘I have indeed,’ Bilbo agreed. As he said this, Thorin and the rest of the Company drew near and Bilbo turned to Thorin when the latter spoke.

‘We did not think you ever intended to come back,’ Fíli heard his uncle say quietly. ‘Years have passed and you said nothing in your letters except that you were settling back into life in the Shire.’

‘I was trying to convince myself as much as anything,’ Bilbo answered equally quietly. ‘Ten years of listening to the gossips call me Mad Baggins behind my back while they were perfectly polite to my face. Trying to show interest in who had grown the biggest squash Hobbiton had ever seen, when I had been part of councils that determined the fate of kingdoms,’ Bilbo snorted derisively. ‘Writing my adventures down in books when really I wanted to have adventures again. When the boys came to ask me to come back again, I finally decided I’d had enough. The Shire will do very well without me and _I_ will do very well without the Shire.’

‘You have no idea how glad I am to hear that, my friend,’ Thorin told him as they embraced.

‘Glad enough not to murder your nephews?’ Bilbo asked teasingly. ‘I am told they snuck off into the night, which shows a truly appalling lack of common sense and good manners, but I am happy that they did it anyway.’

‘I think they can probably be forgiven,’ Thorin said, eyeing Fíli and Kíli with a glint of amusement now. Fíli heaved a sigh of relief, only to realise he might have been too hasty. ‘As long as Dís agrees, of course.’

Risking a glance at Mum, Fíli decided that he should probably have set his affairs in order before he left. Who would make sure that Mati received his best daggers now?

‘Uncle Bilbo,’ a little voice stage-whispered from Kíli’s shoulder, ‘is that the King who killed the big white orc?’

‘It is indeed, my lad,’ Bilbo affirmed, reaching to lift Frodo down and set him on Bilbo’s hip. ‘This is Thorin Oakenshield, King of Erebor, and his Company. Gentleman, Lady Dís, my nephew, Frodo Baggins. He has been eager to meet you.’

Fíli was certain that every heart present melted when they got a good look at those big blue eyes in that tiny little face. Fíli himself had been wrapped around Frodo’s finger about a minute after they’d met. Kíli hadn’t even lasted that long.

‘I will not kill you,’ Dís told her eldest child then, ‘but only because I do not want to upset the little one.’

‘Yes, Mum,’ Fíli said carefully, offering a silent prayer of thanks to their creator. It was good to be home.

«««

‘To think, only a short time ago you were scolding me for interfering in the timeline of the world,’ Mahal said accusingly to Eru as they watched the scene of the reunion. ‘According to Yavanna, that little lad should not even have been born for another twenty years.’

‘It is my timeline, Aulë,’ Eru answered with complete unconcern. ‘If I cannot alter it, who can? Besides, it is not as if you are unhappy with this turn of events.’

‘No, of course I am not,’ Mahal replied, dropping the reproving tone. ‘Erebor was never quite right without Bilbo there.’

‘Exactly,’ Eru agreed. ‘Now your Company are all together once more.’

‘Thank you,’ Mahal said with true gratitude, smiling at his father before he left to check on the dwarves who had remained in Ered Luin.

Eru smiled to himself quietly. Time to get rid of that cursed ring.

Not just yet, of course. There were a few more things that had to come to pass before events could truly be set in motion. This was a start, though. A very good start.

Yes, Eru thought, soon all would be as it should be.

«««

_Fifteen years later_ …

The mountains had been quiet with all of the orcses and goblinses gone. Gollum had stayed hidden for a very long time after they all left, waiting for them to come back, but they never had. He had scavenged what he could from their kingdom after that, living on the blind little fishes and the old bones he had found. As the years had passed, however, Gollum had found fewer and fewer meals in the mountains and he had become hungrier and hungrier. Gollum did not like being hungry. He did not like it at all.

‘We was not hungry when we had precious,’ Gollum moaned to himself as he sat next to the door that led out of the mountain. He had been there for nearly three days, always one step away from venturing into the outside world. He had not left these tunnels in a very long time and the world was an unknown, and so frightening, place.

‘We needs precious,’ Gollum whined unhappily. ‘How will we get more food if we doesn’t have precious to help us?’

This, of course, was the crux of the problem. Precious was out there somewhere, with the nasty little hobbit that had stolen it. Gollum knew that, even if he didn’t really know where to start looking. If Gollum was going to get precious back he would have to go outside. Only, without precious, going outside was proving to be a terrifying prospect. Gollum rocked back and forth for some time longer, thinking on precious and all that he had lost. Finally, it was these thoughts that pushed him through the door and out into the world.

Outside, it was night and almost all was quiet. All except the cries of the owls who hunted in the dark. Gollum had been inside for so long, however, that he had forgotten what an owl sounded like. Terrified, he decided that eagles were abroad, would see him and would come to eat him. Gollum hurtled across the open ground into the trees, clambered up one and resolved to stay there until the eagles were gone. In fact, he had given himself such a fright that he got settled in the tree and promptly fell asleep. When he woke again, it was morning.

It had been even longer since Gollum had been in sunlight than it had been since he was outside. Before he had hidden during the day and travelled only at night. As he had told Bilbo all those years ago, the sun was no friend to Gollum and he avoided it as much as possible.

Now, however, Gollum’s immediate instinct to hide was halted mid-movement. Somewhere, in the very back of his mind, hidden in a crack too small for even precious to fit into, a voice was murmuring to him. It was not precious’ voice. Nor was it the hard, cold voices of the people Gollum had once belonged to, driving him from their midst.

It was the voice of a very different hobbit. And this hobbit was singing an old, old song. It was Grandmother’s song, Sméagol remembered again. The song she had sung as the sun went down, before they danced all night. The hobbit had sung it for Sméagol when he could not recall the words.

The hobbit had talked about the sun as well, Sméagol thought then.

_Hobbits like the sun, and grass in the meadows, and flowers in their gardens and we would find none of these things down here_ , Bilbo’s voice told Sméagol once more. _I would not like to be forced inside to escape the sun._

Sméagol had liked those things once as well. Had liked them almost as much as he had liked the water and swimming. He had lain out in his boat on the river and had felt the sun shining down through the trees, like he did now. It had been… peaceful. Happy. Sméagol had been happy.

With these memories in mind, Sméagol climbed further up the tree. He was good at climbing, almost as good as a goblin, and it did not take him long to get to the top. Once there, he hesitated for a moment, not certain of what he had intended to do. Then he heard that voice inside his head again and made a decision.

Sméagol pushed up that last little bit and his head broke through the foliage.

For the first time in hundreds of years, possibly thousands, Sméagol felt the direct light of the sun upon his face.

And he smiled.

_Fin_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've put this at the bottom because it should make it easier for you to skip if you want. As we have reached the end of this mammoth, however, there were a couple of things I wanted to put here.
> 
> Thank you so, so much if you have ever left a comment or kudos on this story! I began this nearly four months ago because I had just moved to a new city and wanted to entertain myself. I never intended anyone to read a word of it, nor did I think I'd get to the end. Normally I get so far with something like this and then lose the plot (literally and figuratively!). After being encouraged to post, I was amazed to realise that there were people out there who were enjoying reading and wanted to know what happened next. So if you were one of those people thank you again. You managed to get the story out of my head and onto the screen :D
> 
> That having been said, there were a couple of people I wanted to give special mention to.
> 
> BM - I did not realise that there was a word limit on comments until you started finding it regularly! Thank goodness we haven't found the email word count yet and thank you for all of the lovely long comments. You've brightened many a bus journey with them :)
> 
> Sinkme - Every time you comment you leave me with the biggest smile on my face (and a slightly bigger ego). You are one of the best cures for writer's block I've come across, so thank you very much.
> 
> ISeeFire - Every chapter since 18 has been for you. You make it make sense, you stop me doing all sorts of ridiculous things grammatically and chronologically and you make it so much fun to write. I'm endlessly relieved you offered to beta for me because you are amazing at it. Thank you, my dear :D :P
> 
> There you go, sappiness over. 
> 
> Drenagon


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